Afterburners
by highplainswoman
Summary: What is the reaction of the JAG personnel to the announcements coming from McMurphy's little get-together on that Friday night? Especially Lt. Vukovic?
1. News!

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG; just borrowing the characters

A/N: We've been given very little information about Lt. Vukovic's background so I decided to "run with it" and fill in the gaps. He hasn't gotten much of a "break" with other fans, apparently, and while understandable, it is just a trifle unfair. There's a reason I put him in New York before his transfer to HQ JAG, Washington D.C. See my other "current" story: "All's Fair in Love and War", a crossover between "JAG " and "Law and Order -Original Series" where he's going to make a brief appearance as a fresh, bran-new attorney. I also think the way the professional writers ended the series, there's tremendous potential for a whole slew of new stories about both the old and new members of our "JAG".

AFTERBURNERS

0900 (Military Time) (Local Time)

HQ JAG

Falls Church, VA

Assuming the get-together at McMurphy's was on a Friday night, this takes place the following Monday

As Greg stepped out of the elevator leading to the bullpen of JAG Ops, he immediately noticed an unusual buzz of activity for that early in the morning. Mystified, he walked into the break room to get his first cup of coffee and discovered Commanders Roberts and Turner sipping from their first cups of coffee.

"Good morning, Commanders." He nodded as he "pulled his coffee" from the coffee maker. He turned around and noted a change in their attitudes. When he first walked in, they had been casual and friendly. When he turned to face them, there was a noticeable coolness—or was it reserve? —or a certain aura of curiosity—Yes, that was it. They were curious about—what? "So, how are we this morning?" He noticed the glances the two older men exchanged.

"You don't know, do you?" It was Commander Turner's voice that broke the strange silence. "Of course. You wouldn't have any way of knowing, would you?"

Greg shook his head. "Know what?" He looked at both men, watched the silent communications between them. Inwardly, he sighed. There had been a certain "inner group"—some would call it "cliquish"—that was as tight as the knots the U.S. Navy traditionally (and mythically) taught all sailors within the first year of enlistment. It hadn't taken much to notice that 1) the center of this group had been then-Commander Rabb (with his legendary reputation—and Greg couldn't help wonder just how many of the stories he had heard through the JAG scuttlebutt was true) and Colonel MacKenzie. Two: somehow, Commander Roberts was a part of that. Somewhere, Greg had heard, under the command of retired Admiral Chedwiggen, the scuttlebutt had called them "the three Musketeers" of JAG. Just where Commander Turner fit into this "tight little circle" had been unclear to him. There was also the perception, fair or unfair—again, Greg had no way of judging whether this was truth either—this little "inner circle" had been Admiral Chedwiggen's "favorites."

Ambitious as he was, he was anxious to break into this "inner circle", especially given the reputation that both Commander Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie had established for themselves on their own abilities. When he had heard Admiral Chegwidden was going to retire, he had immediately put in for a transfer from the New York JAG office to Headquarters. In his most private moments, he admitted this was a very nervy thing to do, given he had been a "real" lawyer for just two years before the retirement of the Admiral—usually headquarter billets were reserved for attorneys with much more experience. Captain Rabb's rather snide comment about being a real attorney for "a minute and half" wasn't, figuratively, too far off the mark—which was something he would admit to nobody else but himself. But it was part of the Rabb legend that he had been one of the youngest attorneys ever to be assigned to JAG those many years ago and Greg was not shy about being competitive and to try to establish a new record.

Again, the two older men exchanged looks, and it was Commander Turner who shrugged, as if to say to Commander Roberts, "Go ahead. Tell him."

"Colonel MacKenzie resigned her commission." Commander Roberts took another sip of coffee and, if Greg had really paid attention, he could have seen a silent chuckle shaking Commander Turner's shoulders. Looking back on the scene, Greg would have sworn Commander Turner was teasing Commander Roberts by silently communicating—"You're not going to make this easy for him, are you?"

Greg almost dropped his coffee cup. As it was, a considerable amount of hot, black liquid landed on the floor—and all over his summer whites. If the heat from the liquid hadn't jerked his attention, at least momentarily, to the pool on the floor and the brown stain on his white pants, his jaw would have followed the coffee to the floor. Commander Turner chuckled but said no more.

"Ow!" He moved to the paper towels to clean up both his pants (as best he could) and the mess on the floor, especially before the General came in. "What?" His mind was spinning. "What about the assignment in San Diego? And—for God's sake, why?"

This time, Greg heard both men chuckle as he bent down with the paper towels to clean up the mess on the floor. There was a "pregnant" pause before the answer came. Because Greg was busy wiping up the mess, he missed still another silent visual exchange between the two older men. This time, it was Commander Turner who replied.

"She and Captain Rabb are getting married."

That did it. Greg flopped down on the floor and looked up at the two older men in pure astonishment. It was Commander Roberts, pit bull in the courtroom that he was (and Greg was learning that to his dismay), but didn't really have it in him to be really malicious, who brought Greg back to earth.

"Lieutenant, you'd better get off the floor before the General—"

Too late. The next thing Greg knew, he was hearing General Cresswell's dry voice commenting, "Lieutenant, I suggest you get off the floor before you become a doormat." Greg could just feel the heat from the General's stare at the brown stain (now settling into permanent status) on his summer whites. "I also suggest you do something about your uniform." This time, Greg heard three chuckles as he felt his face turning red.

"Uh, yes sir."

Talk about a bad start to what had looked to be a relatively good, quiet day!

1230 Military Time (Local Time)

HQ JAG

Falls Church, VA

Same Day

It was just as well, Greg thought as he carried his lunch tray to the table where the two older men were eating their lunches, neither having court hearings underway at the moment, it was a relatively "quiet" day—and no wonder the bullpen had been abuzz with news. (It was news, too—there was no "rumor" element about the Colonel's impending marriage with Captain Rabb—although, in the meantime, he had heard other scuttlebutt about the current upheaval taking place in JAG Ops.) He had been forced to go back home and change clothes (muttering under his breath about the necessity for either 1) soaking the stained whites or 2) taking them to the dry cleaners to see what they could do.) In the end, he had decided to soak them and then come back and take them to the dry cleaners after work. Damn them, anyway, for disrupting his world like this anyway. While changing uniforms, he had decided he really needed to talk to the two older men to get a clearer picture of just exactly what was going on. Hence, the beeline to where the two older officers were sitting.

"Gentlemen, mind if I join you?" Greg figured it wouldn't hurt to be on his best behavior, especially with the two most senior officers (after the General) now in the office. It was Commander Roberts, munching on a sandwich, who waved him towards a seat by Commander Turner.

Commander Turner responded vocally. "Of course not." He looked at Greg's uniform. "I take it you went home to change."

"Damn it, anyway. There was no way I was going to get all that coffee out of the pants." He sat down, shook out his napkin. "I should send the dry cleaning bill to Captain Rabb for shocking me like that."

Commander Roberts chuckled. "I can't blame you for being shocked." The chuckle grew into a small laugh. "For the two of them, that's a minor disruption." Greg glanced at Commander Turner and saw an answering grin.

Ah—what a nice seguay into what he wanted to discuss with the two older associates of Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie. He took a bit of the rather hapless-looking meat loaf, chewed, and swallowed. "Ah—yes." He decided a humble approach was called for, especially with these two. "Can I ask you some questions?" For some reason he couldn't identify, he looked at Commander Roberts.

The friendly-outside-the-courtroom attorney got a reserved look to him. "You can ask. I can't promise I will answer."

Inwardly, Greg gave out a big sigh of relief. He had gotten the impression in his few weeks at JAG Ops, both Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie were very private individuals and, while quite helpful in assisting new personnel find their way around the office, tried hard to keep their personal lives very, very private. He wasn't sure how much information he was going to get from Commander Roberts, but at least he wasn't shut out.

"I had heard Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie were quite close. I just didn't realize how close they were—unless this was a sudden thing." He peered closely at Commander Roberts, wanting desperately to not miss even the subtlest signal. To his surprise, both men burst out laughing—to the point where Commander Roberts started choking.

"Bud, are you okay?" Commander Turner had immediately turned serious and "Bud" waved him off.

"Yeah. I'll be okay. A sudden thing? I should email Captain Rabb that there are some people who couldn't/didn't see this coming. I think he would be very, very surprised." A thought crossed Commander Robert's face (despite his professional training at keeping a "poker" face in the courtroom, Bud was rather transparent outside the courtroom). His eyebrows raised. "You know, Captain Rabb may very well pay that dry cleaning bill after all. You know, as a 'thank you'."

Greg personally thought that if Captain Rabb did pay his dry cleaning bill, it would be a slap in the face for being such a dummy. But was he such a dummy, really?

Commander Turner apparently took pity on the younger officer. He set his water glass back down on the table after taking a sip and turned his head in Greg's direction. "Somewhere along the way, in a partnership that started nine years ago, they both fell in love with each other. It was frustrating, both to them and to the office." There was that secretative little smile directed towards Commander Roberts again. "Bud, here's a thought: you know the rule against fraternization?" Bud nodded. "You know that rule was established for the purpose of 'keeping good order and discipline', right?" Commander Roberts choked again as he caught Commander Turner's gist. Roberts spoke directly to the younger attorney, who, by this time, was thoroughly confused. "The tension between the two of them was so thick at times, you could have cut it with a knife. And they would fight continuously in the office. When they were adversaries in the courtroom, you never knew what would happen." He turned to Commander Turner. "Did you know Captain Rabb actually shot up the courtroom ceiling in the first case he opposed Colonel MacKenzie?"

Greg's eyes popped wide as saucers at hearing that while Commander Turner nodded. "I had heard that but I just thought it was rumor. . ."

Damn! Greg thought. It made Colonel MacKenzie's scolding over the victory of the trial in San Diego inexplicable. . That was another question to be followed up on. He almost wished he had brought a notebook to take notes.

Commander Roberts chuckled again. "That little stunt haunted Commander—uh—Captain Rabb for years. Every time he picked up a weapon in front of Admiral Morris, Admiral Morris would quiver just a little." Commander Roberts got serious again. "Anyway, I digress." He looked at Greg. "They should have gotten together a long time ago and things would have been a lot quieter in the office, hang the rule against fraternization. So far as I know, they never violated the 'letter' of that particular 'law', but their relationship sure wasn't condusive to 'good order and discipline."

Commander Turner was really getting into the discussion. "You don't think Admiral Chedwiggen could have done something for them like he did with you and Harriet?"

Commander Roberts shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. They never tried."

Greg sat there, stunned. This was a lot of information to absorb. He played with his fork. It was Commander Turner who picked up the proverbial conversational ball.

"As long as we're clearing away the gossip, what's this I heard about her following him to Russia to look for his father—not just once, but twice? Is that true or is that gist for the rumor mill?"

Greg's massive ego was shrinking by the foot. Commander Roberts shook his head.

"All I know about that is they somehow because the 'pets' of the CIA and tumbled into some information concerning Captain Rabb's father. I do know he seemed to be a lot more at peace after that second trip. And I would suspect no one really knows the full story except for the two of them—being CIA, I would bet most of the story behind those two trips are classified."

CIA? Greg's head was spinning. "What about Captain Rabb's father? "

Commander Turner's voice was very quiet. "Harm's father was a fighter pilot flying over Vietnam in the late 1960s and went MIA on Christmas Eve." He shook his head remembering. "Harm was obsessed. I was astonished when he let it drop at the Academy one time he actually went to Vietnam when he was 16 to look for his father."

Something nagged at Gregory's brain. He straightened his back and leaned into the older men's conversation. "I've seen his chest—those awards and medals. How does an attorney get those?"

Commander Roberts shook his head. "Those are a results of working with the CIA and his status as a part-time naval aviator." He looked rather sternly at Greg. "You should know he's still on flight status on a part-time basis. Why else do you think he wasn't in the office during Christmas last year?"

Greg gave himself a little shake. "I had just assumed he was out in the field investigating a case."

Commander Turner took another drink of water and set his glass back down on the table shaking his head. "There's a lot you don't know, lieutenant."

By this time, the cafeteria had empties and the three men became aware it was time to get back to the office. By this time, Greg's ego had shrunk to a considerable smaller size and it was all he could do to remember to thank the two older gentlemen. Not all of his questions had been answered, but there was more than enough to chew on until the next opportunity to ask either of them more questions.


	2. Scandals and Shocks

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG—just playing with the characters to see what would happen if. . .

A/N: Thanks for all the very positive reviews. It's been a long, long time since I've tried to do any fiction writing and it's gratifying to see I can still be somewhat decent. (Of course, it helps to have the parameters of the characters already laid out and to be familiar with the "canon" of the series.) I had forgotten just how much positive reviews helps "keep the muse alive". Here is the latest "update"—I have a specific purpose in mind, although I don't know how many "chapters" there will be. Hope you enjoy the remainder as much as you have enjoyed the first installment. (And still working on "All's Fair," too.)

A/N: Notes about characters: Couldn't remember for sure what the situations with Tiner and Webb were—especially Webb, so made it up. (The last I knew about Webb, Mac had decided never to speak to him again. Which, given the situation, seemed warranted. Still, for a party celebrating two lives, it seemed appropriate to give him some space.)

2000 (Military time) (8:00 p.m. Civilian Time)  
McMurphy's Bar and Tavern  
Washington D.C.  
Same Day

Greg spotted the JAG contingent towards the back of the bar. There was a mixture of both "old" and "new" personnel. He recognized almost everybody except for a tall (although not as tall as Captain Rabb—damn him anyway! Why did he have to be so tall—a human skyscraper is what he was!), bald-headed and trim figure. He made his way back to them, thinking it was amazing how different people looked out of uniform. All of a sudden, he spotted Petty Office Coates— "Jen"—at the same time she spotted him and waved to him to join their group.

"Vic!" She screamed over the music. "I think you know everybody except the Admiral."

Commander Roberts was standing by the tall figure, nursing a draft beer, and he did the introductions. "Admiral, please meet Lieutenant Gregory Vucovik, the next 'Commander Rabb' of JAG." Did Greg see a smirk lurking around the commander's face, as if to quietly tease the tall figure? And did he also hear someone in the crowd snicker, "You mean, the next 'Rabb wanna be'? "Lieutenant, this is Admiral A.J. Chegwidden, now retired, former JAG."

Greg held out his hand in greeting, ignoring the under-the-breath comment coming from somewhere in the crowd he thought he heard. So this was the formidable former JAG. "I've heard a lot about you, Admiral. All good, I assure you."

Greg felt like he was back in basic training when the Admiral's eyes raked over him in inspection. He felt his backbone stiffen automatically. "At ease, lieutenant." The older man snorted. "The next 'Rabb', huh? Well, I'm glad you're not my problem. One Rabb in a lifetime is more than enough." Greg couldn't believe his ears—did Commander Roberts giggle! The older man turned his attention to the commander. The near smirk lurking on the commander's face disappeared—but only for a moment. The admiral's attention turned back to Greg. "Lieutenant, Commander—excuse me, I understand it's Captain, now—Rabb is not a role model to follow, at least in some aspects."

Greg was trying to figure out how to discretely ask him why, when General Cresswell joined them and shook hands with the Admiral. "It's good to see you, Admiral." The general took the very dry martini that Jen handed to him. "You put together a great team. It's too bad it's being broken up."

"Yeah, I heard about that." The admiral took a swallow of his own draft beer. "Tell me about that."

Greg badly, desperately wanted to hang at the fringes of this conversation to glean more information about Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie from tidbits dropped by their former CO and equally important, find out what the current situation with the position in San Diego was, but Jen pulled him away from them. "Vic, you have to meet Tiner." She dropped her voice. "He was the admiral's yeoman before I got the position—and he's just graduated from law school. He's going onto OCS." Reluctantly, Greg let himself be led away from the "font of all important information"—the two senior officers.

Later. . .

Greg was nursing his beer at the bar listing to bits and pieces of conversation around him. His ears were purposefully tuned to special words, specifically "Rabb," "Mac"—and variations thereof. He winced inwardly. "It's like I'm on a reconnaissance mission—I should be enjoying myself." In fact, he was casually loitering near a group of women surrounding Lieutenant Simms. He was only slightly awed when he recognized Congresswoman Bobbi Latham on the House Arms Appropriations Committee. He vaguely wondered what her connection with either Rabb or Colonel MacKenzie was. He recognized he must have been more shook up than he initially realized by the news concerning Rabb and MacKenzie he had heard this morning—God! Was it only this morning? It seemed like ions ago!

" . . .she was almost literally at the alter with another man when Captain Rabb's plane went down at sea!" His internal radar picked this up and he edged as subtly as he could to the constellation of women at the bar. "Nobody, but nobody, expected the complete cancellation of the wedding; a postponement, sure, but not a complete cancellation. It was," and Harriet giggled a little, "something of a scandal at the time."

One of the women (whom Greg didn't recognize) sighed. "So romantic. . ." He saw the sharp glance Harriet gave the woman.

"Not so romantic as much as a headache. Canceling the wedding took as much of a checklist as did planning the wedding. And, of course, we were all concerned with Captain Rabb's physical condition. It was a very scary time for all of us."

Greg really wanted to ask a question but he wasn't about to insert himself into a gaggle of women, either. He decided he had to content himself with listening. Oh where, just where, was that notebook when he needed one, anyway?

Bobbi Latham spoke up. "You would have though they would have gotten together then, wouldn't you?"

Harriet fingered her ginger ale glass and frowned. "Yeah. But they didn't." She shrugged.

Another woman, one Greg didn't recognize, continued asking the questions Greg would have. "So, what happened?"

The frown from Harriet's face hadn't disappeared. "Captain Rabb was accused of murdering a pregnant lieutenant in the office."

Greg felt like he had been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer. This was the man who had taken the position in Europe that would eventually lead to becoming the JAG itself! How in the hell did the man's military career survive, let alone get a promotion?

Apparently, the rest of the women were equally shocked. "You're kidding, right?" After a deep breath restored some kind of perspective for Greg, he glanced at the cluster of women and saw a look of resignation on—was that Bobbi Latham's face? He leaned into the group of women an inch or two closer.

"No." Harriet turned to the Congresswoman. "You remember that, don't you?"

Bobbie nodded, fingering her glass. "Yeah. Not very pleasant." She paused, looked around. Greg quickly lowered his gaze, wanting very much not to be discovered eavesdropping. If Bobbi noticed his rapt attention to the group, she didn't say anything. She picked up the story.

"I couldn't believe it when I heard the news. I went to see him." Greg heard a dry, low chuckle. "There are advantages to being in Congress. It took some doing—waving of ID and threats of appropriation cutting, but I was able to get in." She looked at everybody else except for Harriet. "JAG people were instructed to stay away from him for the duration."

Harriet nodded. "Yeah. We were told to not even give the appearance of trying to influence the investigation one way or the other."

One of the other ladies commented. "Comm-uh—Captain Rabb seems like such a heroic figure—who would have thought . . ."

Bobbi snorted, sipped her drink. Greg thought it might have been a cognac—maybe. "Well, people don't necessarily like heroes or legends, especially up close and personal. Anything to bring 'em down."

"Well, what happened to the investigation? He obviously wasn't convicted."

Harriet's face showed her distaste. "It turns out Commander Ted Lindsey was the guilty party. Heresented both the Admiral and Captain Rabb for years." She turned to the speaker. "He thought the admiral scuttled his chances at promotion." She shook her head. "I've never figured out just why he resented the Captain so much, though. But then I didn't know Lindsey that well, either." Her face turned thoughtful and she looked around as if to look for her husband. "Maybe Bud knows. I'll have to get him to tell me someday. . ."

Bobbi nodded. "After it was all over, I pulled some strings to make sure nothing showed up in his service record."

Greg took a sip from his drink and thought about that. It was helpful to have friends in high places, he decided—especially in places that controlled funding. It was something he was going to have to keep in mind, maybe cultivate himself, given the opportunity. But how in the hell did Rabb get those kinds of connections, anyway? Greg consoled himself with the thought Rabb had been "in town" for at least ten years, if not longer.

"Bet that was hard on the Colonel." The speaker got a sage look on her face, as though she herself was putting herself in the colonel's place. Then she added, "But why didn't they get together after that?"

Harriet shook herself. "One word: Paraguay." There was a pause. "That was ugly."

"Paraguay? What did Paraguay have to do with JAG Ops?" Greg wasn't the only one who was mystified.

Harriet signed. "Clayton Webb."

Who?

Just then, the door to the tavern opened and an average-sized man, with graying light brown hair walked in. He joined the men of JAG in the back, and Greg could see him shaking hands with the retired Admiral and Commander Roberts. He glanced back at Harriet just in time to see Harriet nod towards the newcomer. "That's him." Grey also saw the frown that just briefly crossed her face. "I've never figured out just how or why Mr. Webb had access to JAG in the first place."

Greg decided it was time to rejoin the men on his personal reconnaissance mission. He refreshed his drink and came up on the men just in time to hear the retired Admiral comment to the General, "I hope you have the good sense to keep this man out of your office. He was forever grabbing Rabb and MacKenzie for various missions. Damn near got both of them killed, too--several times." The last came out in a very low "bear" growl of displeasure.

Greg gulped. There was a certain implication of the closenest of death simply by virtue of wearing the military uniform; however, there was also a certain implication that went along with being a lawyer in the military. The thought that lawyers were as vulnerable to death at any time as any infantry man in the Army was a new idea, something he would have to consider later, for what it was worth. Gregwasn't a coward, but hedidn't think he was a complete fool either, to court death on purpose when sometimes the smarter thing to do was dodge.

The general's mouth twitched. Greg had the impression General Cresswell was not about to respond directly to that comment—to do so would be to implicitly criticize the previous CO of JAG. Instead, the newcomer lifted his drink in a mini-salute to the admiral.

"Sorry, A.J. I couldn't help it if you had the best people."

The admiral snorted. "Yeah, right." He glared in mock seriousness at the man. "The truth will out, Clayton. It seemed pretty obvious after you all got back and recovered, the real object was MacKenzie. Rabb was just part of the package."

Greg was surprised at the flush of pink/red that marched across the man's face. He was really, really curious—but he also knew it wasn't his place, especially if he wanted to keep his data gathering under wraps, to ask questions. It was Commander Turner who inadvertently filled in the gaps for Grey. "Yeah, Clayton. What was that all about, anyway? Seeing Mac when everybody knew there was a 'thing' between Harm and Mac?"

Greg almost involuntarily lost his low profile when he almost chocked. He managed to swallow discretely and clamped his lips together to keep from commenting. The longer he was on this "mission", the more startled he was getting. Although, he mused, I should be getting used to this.

"I never thought Rabb was the man for her." The man was definitely on the defensive. "He was so obtuse, oblivious . . ."

There was a surprise chuckle of agreement from the Admiral. "I'll grant you that, Webb." Then Greg saw the admiral bite his lower lip, as though he was pursuing a thought rambling through his brain. "I don't know if it was 'oblivion' as much as 'denial', though." The group of men paused, as if to collectively think about this, as though it was a new thought. "I remember when he resigned his commission to go down to Paraguay, I asked him what he was going to do to keep her. He was really surprised by that question."

Greg sighed. There were so many surprises coming to light, although all of this seemed to be "old history" to the old JAG group. He told himself, "Get used to it." He was beginning to understand just what the admiral had met when he had told Greg not to model himself after Rabb. He edged closer to the group, making sure he was standing next to Commander Roberts. He instinctively knew Commander Roberts would provide something of a shield against the older, higher-ranking officers—although he had no idea just why this might be so. Commander Roberts noticed, and being the gentlemen that he was, made a move to include him in the group. After all, it wasn't like Greg was the only one that wasn't circulating, "working the room", as the politicians would say.

"Clay, meet Lieutenant Vukovic, the next 'star' at HQ JAG." There was genuine warmth about his smile. Greg wasn't sure what to make of that. He had been aware during the case he had worked with then Commander Rabb, Roberts was astonished at appearance of complete cooperation between him and the new Captain. Nevertheless, he was not a complete fool and he was going to take advantage of every "gift" to come his way. He put his hand out to shake the other's hand and put a full-fledge smile of greeting on his face.

"Clayton Webb. I was the Under Secretary of State." From his side, Greg heard the admiral snort.

"Come on, Webb. Give it a break. Everybody knows it's CIA." Even Greg caught the undertone of deeply buried anger directed towards Webb. That anger received an acknowledgement when Clay's entire posture assumed a defensive stance. Greg made a mental note of that and, just to make conversation, asked the man, "So what are you doing now?"

"Retired," was the short answer. That brought Greg up short. He then noticed an embarrassed silence fall over the group as Clay moved to grasp Greg's outstretched hand. It was with surprise he noticed a trembling of that hand. He also noticed Commander Roberts glance at Commander Turner and lean into the admiral's ear to whisper something. The Admiral put his drink down.

"Gentlemen, it's been a fun evening, but we—I need to go."

Greg did not want his reconnaissance mission to end quite yet. He asked, "Where are you going? The evening is still young." He was the recipient of a fierce stare from the ex-Seal.

"Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie's plane departs in a couple of hours. I'm going to go see them off."

Greg stepped back and noticed a few select people starting to leave. He was profoundly frustrated. He had the sense he didn't have all the information he had discovered he needed so badly for personal satisfaction. How was he going to proceed?

He decided enough was enough. He could continue his "mission" at another time, in other places. This was a party, after all, and it was time he enjoyed himself. He mentally shook himself and made a beeline towards the cluster of ladies he had been next to earlier.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	3. New Friends, Old Enemies

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG or the characters. Just playing with what might have happened "off camera" from the season/series finale.

A/N: Anybody out there remember the first case Lt. Vucovik and Col. MacKenzie worked together on in San Diego? If so, sure would like to have someone refresh my memory. Thanks.

A/N: A note about "style". I decided, before starting to write fan fiction, to try to abide by the parameters set up by the professional writers. Sometimes, especially in crossover stories, that can be hard to do. I like my stories, regardless of whether I'm reading them or writing them, to contain as much realism as possible. Where there is "literary license", it's because the pros have taken the same. (I seriously doubt the military would give two senior officers only 72 hours or so to make the kind of massive changes in life the writers have given Harm and Mac—but that literary license was truly justified. The finale was so sweet. . . ) Also, on the literary license "thing", one parameter I set up for myself in this story was to utilize as many "old" characters from the tens years as I could possibly justify in "plot planning". And Reviewers: if it seems like I've lost the tone of the first two chapters, please, please let me know. I am thoroughly pleased/surprised/happy to discover people are enjoying this attempt to put words to the "visions" I see as a result of the season/series finale. Many, many thanks to all of you.

Chapter 3: New Friends, Old Enemies

0900 (Military Time) 9:00 a.m. (Civilian Time)

Next Day

HQ JAG

Falls Church, VA

Greg was early in the office this a.m., not wanting a repeat of yesterday's "stellar" performance. As a result, he was already in the break room, sipping his first cup of coffee at work when Jen and Lt. Commander Bud Roberts walked in. He caught the tail end of their conversation.

"It's going to seem really strange, don't you think, without the two of them around?" Jen's words caught Greg's attention. He had been too tired (and, if truth be told, a little too "buzzed") to do much thinking about his "mission" when he had left McMurphy's last night. He had gotten ready for work on "automatic pilot" nursing a mild "hangover" headache. Just because this was his first cup of coffee at work didn't necessarily mean this was his first cup of coffee for the day. Far from it—he had already gone through a full pot of coffee at home—not that he was going to confess it to anyone, especially here.

Commander Roberts chuckled. "Yeah—it's going to seem a little too quiet, I think." Greg saw the commander nudge Jen a little in the ribs as they walked through the door. "But remember, it seemed 'funny', too, when the Admiral retired."

Jen walked to the coffee maker and poured two cups of coffee, one for her and one for the commander. "So what do you know about new personnel coming in to replace the colonel and the captain?"

One of the things that was getting to Greg was the relatively ease the close comrades of Captain Rabb had in using the new rank, almost as if they all silently agreed Rabb's promotion was "overdue". As he sipped his coffee, he made a mental note to himself to add discovering the reason for the ease to the "checklist" he had concocted in his mind to uncover the mystery that was Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie.

Bud was adding creamer and sweetener to his coffee. The two so far hadn't seen Greg, as Greg was tucked into a corner—almost behind the door—and was maintaining a very discrete silence. "I know a couple of previous JAG attorneys are coming in. As far as the rest of the personnel the Captain is taking, I haven't seen the final list so I don't know who else they will replace."

Just then, Commander Turner walked in seeking his first cup of coffee for the day. He commented, "I don't know if the support personnel will be replaced." He poured a cup and then continued, "Congress is on a budget-cutting trip. This might be a good place to cut a few corners."

The General walked in and headed for the coffee maker. "The gossip mill at work! People, we'll go over some of this at staff call this a.m." He pointedly glanced at his watch. "It's time to get to work."

Well, thought Greg, that was relatively non-productive—except Commander Roberts seemed to know more than he was letting on. He needed to figure out a way to "pry open the lid" to get at the information he just knew the Commander had. He sighed, finished his coffee, set it down in the sink—he promised himself he would clean it out later—and headed for his office.

1000 (Military Time)

Staff Call

Conference Room

HQ JAG

Falls Church, VA

"Attention on deck." A memory flickered through Greg's mind as he remembered the last time those words had been spoken—just last Friday—by then Commander Rabb—as the General walked into the room.

"As you were." The General waved off the attention posture of the staff gathered in the room. The noise of shifting chairs created a racket for all of 30 seconds as everyone got settled. The General started pacing at the head of the table, glancing occasionally down at a legal notepad sitting on top of a stack of files he had brought into the staff meeting. "As you are all well aware, we have a couple of key vacancies to fill. A Lieutenant Commander Meg Austin will be coming in to replace Col. MacKenzie." Greg was surreptiously watching Commander Robert's face and saw a bright, sunny smile break out. The General also saw it. "You know Commander Austin?"

"Yes, sir." The smile broadened into a grin and Greg had the feeling Commander Roberts was taking a mini-trip of his own down memory lane. "Commander Austin was Captain Rabb's first partner when I was first assigned to headquarters. It will be good to see her again." Sometimes it would be nice if Commander Roberts weren't quite so sunny, Greg thought resentfully. He knew it was the mild handover that was speaking. He was still watching Commander Roberts covertly when the General's next words changed that grin into a wince and a quiet gasp. Now what the hell was _that_ all about, he wondered. "A Captain Allison Krennick will be coming in to replace Captain Rabb." One more item to "investigate", if he could.

It was Commander Turner who asked the next logical question. "When will they be here?" Everyone, including Greg, was looking at the stack of folders in front of the General and there was a general assumption there was going to be a whole lot of extra work for them all. The sooner the new personnel could come in and get settled, the better for everyone.

"They got their orders the same day Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie got theirs, with the same time frame. They should be reporting in this afternoon." He glanced around at the faces sitting around the table. "I'm going to assume we will all make them feel welcome."

It was Commander Turner who spoke again. Greg's eyebrows shot up in exasperation. Doesn't the man ever get "un-focused"? "What about support personnel?"

"Since I haven't heard anything from Captain Rabb or the new commander of the new unit, I don't know how many support personnel we'll be losing. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." The general again glanced down at his notepad. "We should know something about support personnel in three weeks maximum. Any other questions?"

Greg decided it was time to ask one of his primary questions—or, and this was something he would admit only to himself in the quiet closet of his mind—it used to be a primary question on Friday morning. "Who's going to head up the new unit since Colonel MacKenzie's resignation?"

General Cresswell's own eyebrows shot up. Greg winced inwardly, although he tried to keep his face expressionless. He didn't have any way of knowing whether the General knew about Col. MacKenzie's absolute refusal to take him "under her wing" to San Diego. "Still want to go to San Diego, Lieutenant?" Greg was chagrinned. The very nature of that question revealed the General was as well attuned to the rumor mill as anyone in HQ JAG.

"Yes, sir." It was an automatic response with just the right amount of enthusiasm, Greg thought, to be appropriate. In that same closet of the mind, Greg was wondering at the sudden lack of enthusiasm he experienced at the thought of San Diego without Colonel MacKenzie. He shook himself mentally. There will be time to thing about THAT issue later, he told himself. The general waved his hand and, for the first time since the meeting began, sat himself down.

"The new commander is coming from the Marine Corp—Paris Island, as a matter of fact. He's been given the same opportunity as Colonel MacKenzie was, so he will probably be choosing his staff among his own people." Greg felt the General's piercing eyes on him as he continued. "I think that pretty much eliminates anyone from here going to San Diego." Greg heard the door of opportunity slam shut. He tried not to let his disappointment show, and surprisingly, it wasn't too hard. "Now, as to these current cases. . ." The General continued on with the meeting. Greg made still another mental note to himself to have lunch with Commander Roberts—before the new personnel arrived, if at all possible.

1200 (Military Time) (Local Time)

Same Day (Tuesday)

Cafeteria, HQ JAG

Falls Church, VA

Greg stood at the end of the cafeteria line, holding his lunch tray, surveying the lunch crowd, looking for Commander Roberts. He truly hoped the Commander was eating lunch and was by himself, although the latter was doubtful. The Commander was a bull dog in the courtroom, but he was very popular with the entire JAG staff. Much to his surprise, he spotted the Commander in a far corner—and by himself! This was a situation that wasn't going to last long. Greg gripped his lunch tray and launched himself in that direction. Not surprisingly, the Commander waved him a chair.

"I wish they would just give up on the meatloaf," was Greg's opening gambit in the conversation he hoped to have with the commander. He saw the commander swallow the food he had been chewing on and grin.

"Just be thankful they don't have Captain Rabb's recipe for meatless meatloaf." He chuckled. Greg's eyebrows shot up in a questioning look. The Commander continued. "Captain Rabb has been a vegetarian for years and he made the mistake of fixing his meatless meatloaf for Colonel MacKenzie one time. You should have heard her complain about it!" The chuckle grew into a laugh. "She even compared it to 'nuclear waste!'"

Greg couldn't help let a tiny grin tilt his mouth upward to one side. "It must have been pretty bad."

"Yeah, the commander just couldn't understand. Colonel MacKenzie wasn't the only thing he was oblivious to. . ."

Commander Turner stood at the end of the table with his own lunch tray in hand. He asked, "Do you mind if I join you?" Both of the other officers waved him a chair and he sat down beside Greg. He tunneled right in on the topic(s) Greg had on his mind. "So, Bud," he started, tearing open the sweetener for his coffee, "you said you knew Commander Austin? What's she like?"

Commander Roberts took a bite of the mixed vegetables and made a face. "Their meatloaf isn't the only hopeless thing on the menu. How do they manage to ruin vegetables. . .?" He sighed, put his fork down. "She's a blonde, a computer and a weapons expert. She hails from Texas. She's—" Greg saw a thoughtful look come over his face as he appeared to look for the appropriate word. "Nice. I don't know how experienced a trial attorney she is, though. If I remember correctly, she didn't get that much exposure here when she was here."

Commander Turner stirred his coffee. "Well, one would assume she's gotten experience elsewhere. How many years has it been, anyway?"

Greg saw Commander Roberts face pucker up as he thought to remember. "Ten years. Wow! Does the time fly?"

Commander Turner shook out the napkin and placed it in his lap with deliberate precision. "So how about Captain Krennick? Didn't I hear she had 'topped' out at Captain a few years ago?"

Commander Roberts turned sober. Greg was "all ears". "Captain Krennick. Wow! I can't believe she's still in the service." Greg saw Commander Turner's eyebrows go up in a questioning manner. Commander Roberts continued. "She really had it in for Captain Rabb. He threw her so many 'red lights', you would have thought they were in an overactive construction zone!" Commander Turner's eyebrows crawled up even further and Greg's own eyebrows felt like they would fly right off his head.

"Sexual harassment?" Greg's voice was small, but Commander Roberts caught it.

"Yep. Big time." There was a thoughtful look on his face. "I don't know how he stood it, but he handled it like a pro. It's just as well he's not here anymore. I don't think the office could stand any more of that."

"Did Colonel MacKenzie ever meet her?"

Commander Roberts shook his head. "I don't think so." There was the small, pleasant chuckle so characteristic of his good nature again. "_That_ would have been interesting: kick-ass marine meets sexual tension big time." There was a far-away look in his eye as Greg thought he could read the Commander's thoughts about a confrontation between the Colonel and Captain Krennick. All of a sudden, he chuckled himself, although he had to acknowledge another sliver of resentment adding itself to the small "house" of "resentments" he was building up against Captain Rabb. Would he himself ever be in a position where he had two attractive—he assumed Captain Krennick was "attractive"—women actually fighting over him?

"Wow. Two women fighting over him! That would have been something to see."

Commander Roberts tossed Greg a small, almost-sad, smile. "I think Captain Rabb was kind of used to that sort of thing. It would be so funny to see it happening. At a social gathering, he would find himself surrounded by women. Even in the field, even without the uniform, women were drawn to him. I think sometimes he dated only to keep other more obnoxious women away." Greg heard a grunt from Commander Turner.

"How 'bout the 'video princess'? What was that all about?" Greg felt a sigh of relief as he realized he wasn't the only one who had questions. He saw Commander Roberts' eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh, Renee?" He dismissed her with a simple sentence. "Diversion tactic, only."

Greg decided it was safe to ask a question. "Diversionary tactic." Commander Roberts nodded.

"Yeah. He started dating her when Mac became engaged to Commander Brumbee."

"So how come she's called 'The Video Princess'?" Commander Turned asked the question this time.

"Oh—do you remember seeing the navy commercial that Commander Rabb starred in?" Greg was startled. He remembered thinking Commander Rabb looked familiar but couldn't place him immediately when he first met the pilot/lawyer. Now, he remembered that commercial. Damn, a "television star" to boot. These were big, big boots he was looking to fill eventually. He was beginning to feel more than just a bit intimidated. Hell's bells, he thought. The man is intimidating me and he's not even here! How am I going to get a handle on this, anyway? "Renee was producing that commercial. I remember overhearing Col. MacKenzie calling her the 'bitch director from hell.'" Commander Roberts chuckled at the memory. "I don't know if Captain Rabb was really ever serious about Renee, really. I do know Renee irritated the colonel—she kept teasing the Captain about 'long-legged blondes.'" All of a sudden, Commander Roberts actually giggled. It was such a good-natured sound, full of humor, the other two gentlemen at the table joined with small chuckles of their own. "I remember Harriet told me once Col. MacKenzie told her Captain Rabb told her, after his '68 'vette was stolen, that if you went car shopping with your girlfriend, you might as well buy her a ring. _And_ she helped him pick out the Lexus." Both commanders laughter almost threatened to get out of control. When the laughter was brought under control, Commander Roberts reverted back to the original topic of conversation. "In any case, I think she was primarily a diversionary tactic. Colonel MacKenzie was engaged to Commander Brumbee and he really couldn't stand it." He turned to Commander Turner. "Do you know Commander Brumbee and Captain Rabb broke my jaw fighting over Colonel MacKenzie?"

Greg choked on the water he was drinking. Commander Turner's own reaction was more subdued. "Really?"

Commander Roberts nodded, a small grin on his face. "I can laugh about it now—my jaw was wired shut for it seemed like forever. And both of them apologized afterwards. I think," and he snickered, "Colonel MacKenzie thought the whole thing was kind of silly, if I hadn't gotten hurt. And the Admiral! Boy, was he furious!"

Greg saw Commander Turner was equally taken with the story. "So what happened?"

Commander Roberts got serious again. "Captain Rabb and I were sent to Australia to defend a deserter against murder charges. Commander Brumbee was the prosecutor. Things just happened to get out of hand and I inadvertently got in the middle of the whole thing. The Admiral told them to beat it out of each other until they inflicted the same amount of damage on each other as they did on me." Commander Roberts grinned. "The judge was astonished, to say the least, to see both counsel show up in court sporting black eyes—and in Captain Robb's case, two broken ribs." Greg was bug-eyed at this point. Commander Roberts turned serious again. "As I said, it wasn't until after that trip, that Captain Robb got involved with anyone else---and again, I think it was a diversionary tactic." He sighed. "It seemed so futile in some ways." His face got a far-away look to it and Greg's eyebrows shot up. "Here is the classic 'tall, dark, and handsome' male figure you would think could get anything he wanted—and all he ended up with was a lot of unhappiness and pressure from insecure women who wanted him for nothing but 'decoration'. I kinda felt sorry for him." Greg was all of a sudden, awed; this was normally a very reticent man and he was opening up about something very, very personal. The moment of awe quickly fell away as Greg also made a note to tuck this little bit of information in his growing mental file labeled "Rabb/MacKenzie—why?" He personally didn't want to get too close to why he was constructing this file.

Commander Turned stirred his coffee and nodded. "I saw the same thing at the Academy. I know he was just a big exasperated with the phenomenon—and he just didn't understand it, at some levels." Just then, his face gained a "cat-that-ate-the-canary-and-didn't-care-the-feathers-were-still-in-evidence look: "At the same time, he wasn't necessarily adverse to using that sex appeal to getting what he wanted."

"Yeah. I remember Col. MacKenzie called that smile, his 'flyboy' grin."

Greg was growing impatient with this diversion into Captain Rabb's physical characteristics. As irrational as it was, Greg was aware of some resentment boiling up from still another area of his persona—that damned, toothy smile that seemed to be a "chick magnet" no matter what the circumstances. He recognized he couldn't do a damn thing about that but try to counteract the effects of that smile with his own personable charm, which was, he thought immodestly, considerable. What was it Col. MacKenzie said when he had initially been paired with then-Commander Rabb? . . .two alpha males?" Yep. That was him and Captain Rabb. "So what about Captain Krennick?" Greg wanted to redirect the conversation to something a bit more relevant to what was happening at JAG Ops rather than replay "ancient history", especially since the lunch hour was winding down relatively rapidly.

Command Roberts played with his fork and he was staring down into his tray. "She was the Admiral's Chief of Staff when Captain Rabb started here as a Lieutenant. She held the rank of full Commander at the time." Greg tried to ignore the shiver that went down his backbone, as he thought of his own attempts to attract the colonel's attention: two pay grades below the object of the attention! Too close for comfort. Was he sure he wanted to hear about this? He shook himself. He had set himself a mission, personal and private though it may be, and he was going to complete it. "I was a bit naive at the time, but looking back at it, it seemed like almost every other conversation she had with him was loaded with sexual innuendo.""

There was something eating at Greg and, at first, he was hard put to put a finger on it. Then he found the words for his question. "Was he the only target or were there other men?"

Commander Turner turned to face Greg and there was a wicked grin on his face. "Are you thinking you might be a target, Lieutenant?"

Greg felt his face turn pink. It was Commander Roberts who "took him off the hook". He gave Greg a thoughtful look. "You know, the scuttlebutt has it there were a couple other men through the years—which is why the rumors were flying around about her tapping out at Captain." He paused. "I guess I will ask Harriet what she thinks—I don't have a clue as to if you" (and he was looking directly at Greg as he spoke), "have what it takes to 'trip Krennick's wire'". Greg realized the commander was borrowing a phrase from his stint on an aircraft carrier. Which brought up another building block for the "house of resentment"—the close camaraderie between the Captain and Command Roberts was based, in part, on the common ground of serving on aircraft carriers. How he was personally going to handle that particular issue, he didn't have a clue. He saw a sympathetic grin on Commander Roberts' face. "I really will ask Harriet about it. If she thinks you might be a target, I'll let you know."

Greg was flabbergasted. He wasn't sure he knew what to expect from Commander Roberts, but this sort of generosity wasn't it. Commander Roberts turned serious and he was addressing both men. "Captain Rabb handled it with flair and sophistication, but that's only because he was used to that sort of thing. If either one of you find yourself in that position, please let me know. We really can't have that sort of thing in the office."

Which brought another question to Greg's mind. "Who's going to be Chief of Staff, now that the Colonel is gone?"

Bud grinned. "The general told me I could have it--if Captain Krennick ends up going." His grin faltered just a little. "I'm not all that enthusiastic about it—I'd rather be in the courtroom—but, considering my leg, beggars can't be choosers."

Commander Turner changed the topic completely and leaned over the table to look the other commander square in the eye: "Do you think your career has really tapped out at 'Lieutenant Commander,' Bud?"

For the first time in his brief acquaintance with Commander Roberts, Greg thought he saw a little bitterness. "Probably. If Admiral Chegwidden were still here, that would be one thing. But with a Marine as a CO, it's unlikely. Although," and his face brightened, "he didtell me to think about becoming Chief of Staff."

Commander Turned leaned back in his chair. "Bud, I don't know how you do it. First, you get Captain Rabb to ask you to London" (this was news to Greg), "then the Colonel asks you to San Diego" (that, too, was news—and Greg felt his stomach churning in jealousy, not of the colonel or of Captain Rabb—which he could understand and thereby deal with it—but of the affably Lieutenant Commander sitting in front of him), "but now you have the General asking you to think about taking over for Mac." Commander Turner stood up, grabbed his tray, and started walking away. "I seriously don't think you have anything to worry about, Bud. To quote then-Commander Rabb a couple of years ago, 'lesser men don't serve in this office.'" Commander Turner moved away and dumped the contents of his tray in the cafeteria trashcan as he made his way to the office.

Greg was dying of curiosity to know what that little remark was about, but Commander Roberts also stood up and acted like he was ready to go back to work. Greg quickly followed suit and remembered to thank the commander for his time at lunch. He hurried back to his office, thoroughly lost in thought about the two new senior officers coming into the office this afternoon.

1400 (Military Time) 2:00 (Civilian Time)  
Bullpen, HQ JAG  
Falls Church, VA  
Same day

"Attention on deck!" One of the Marine guards voices echoed through the bullpen, catching everyone off guard. You could hear the backbones snap to attention and the noise dropped to that probably most comparable to an empty house at 3:00 a.m. Greg was just coming around the corner to use the fax machine when the voice shot through the air. Like everyone else, he snapped to attention and let his eyes "do the walking" to the entry doors of the bullpen.

Standing there beside the General, were two slim and trim blonde naval officers. The general began speaking.

"Thank you for your attention. These are our two new JAG attorneys, Captain Allison Krennick"—the older and taller of the blondes nodded, "and Lieutenant Commander Meg Austin." Greg noticed the tiny beginnings of a smile on her face. The General continued, "Captain Krennick will be in Captain Rabb's former office"—Greg glanced over to Commander Roberts who was standing by Jen's desk. He wondered if, given the information Commander Roberts had conveyed at lunch, whether he found that particular office assignment somewhat ironic. "Commander Austin will be in Colonel MacKenzie's former office." The General turned to the two officers by his side. "I hope you will feel welcome here, both of you. I know there's been some personnel changes I n the years you've been here—for both of you—so I'll let Commander Roberts—since one of you already know him, as I understand—show you around and introduce you to everyone personally. In the meantime, feel free to enlist anyone you see for help in getting your offices set up." Both women nodded. The general then dismissed the company. "As you were." He waved to Commander Roberts.

While faxing what he had to fax to the Naval Air Station in Pensacola, FL, Greg took the opportunity to study the two women. Captain Krennick was slightly taller than Commander Austin—but not by much. From a distance of approximately 50 ft., he would have bet he could look both women evenly in the eye without having to move his head to adjust (like he had had to do with Captain Rabb). Captain Krennick's blonde hair hung down loose, just to above her collar—regulation length—and was cut in a relatively straight-forward manner. He found himself making eye contact with her and involuntarily shivered—those were mighty cold steel-blue eyes. The inevitable comparison with Rabb's stormy eyes came to the forefront. He refused to look away, and he noted with wry amusement, she turned away first to say something to her younger colleague.

He found himself locking eyes with the younger woman and discovered he was maintaining eye contact with eyes that inevitably reminded him of sunshine and mountain valleys and crystal-clear ice cold streams of water trickling down those same mountains. It seemed to him there was a hint of warmth and mischievousness in those eyes and it consoled him somewhat, especially after having the 10-second or so mini-confrontation with the new captain in the office. Of course, he reminded himself as he shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs, it could be he was inadvertently biased against the captain because of what Commander Roberts had said at lunch—but when was the last time Commander Roberts had purposefully been malicious? Greg decided, especially after seeing the two women, that Commander Roberts might have done a characteristically good thing in issuing the very informal (and under the radar) warning about the captain. He turned to the fax machine to retrieve the material he was faxing and therefore missed the two women, accompanied by Commander Roberts, heading directly for him.

"Lieutenant, let me introduce Capital Krennick and Commander Austin."

Greg held out his hand and smiled in greeting. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. I understand you've both worked here before." It was Commander Austin who shook her head.

"The general was only partly right. I was assigned to HQ JAG ten years ago—but HQ wasn't in this building at the time. I'm afraid the layout is totally foreign to me." Greg found himself instantly liking the Commander. He turned to shake hands with the captain.

"Lieutenant Vucovik. I understand you know Captain Rabb?" His internal radar screen was on high alert, looking for the faintest signals Captain Krennick was throwing off. He noticed her cold blue eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second.

"Yes. I'm not surprised he made it to Captain, with his—"and there was a pause, "'attributes' and skills." That took Greg's breath away and he found himself stepping back just a fraction and risked a glance at Commander Roberts. He caught the momentary frown, which instantly disappeared. Instinctively, he knew Commander Roberts was starting to take notes of the Captain's behavior. Again, he was surprised at the momentary flash of resentment coming up in his own chest, again directed at Captain Rabb. Was Rabb's attractiveness ALL that overwhelming? Damn it, anyway. He put that unworthy thought away in the attic of his mind and focused on the younger woman.

"How 'bout you? I understand you were partnered with Captain Rabb." Again, the data-gathering machine was in overdrive. He chose not to look at Commander Roberts then. He was dazzled, at least momentarily, by Commander Austin's grin.

"Yeah. He made what could have been a dull job v-e-r-y interesting."

Just then, one of the petty officers called out to him. "Lieutenant, you have a call from Pensacola." Greg just nodded and excused himself. "Ladies," he nodded, "if you will excuse me. . ."

It was Captain Krennick who dismissed him. "Of course, lieutenant. Duty calls."

As Greg walked back to his office to take the call, he could almost literally feel Captain Krennick's cold stare inspecting his torso. He shivered—but at the same time, his curiosity about the kind of personality Captain Krennick had was starting to take over, in spite of Commander Roberts warning. He decided, much against a tiny voice telling him he was going too far, this avenue of research warranted further research.


	4. They're baaaack!

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG—just "playing" with the characters.

A/N: Sorry about that! I'm still very confused about the process of uploading and editing/adding chapters. Bear with me--and if someone can explain, in really clear, concise, and precise language, just how to do it without getting all frustrated, it would be much appreciated.

A/N: For my Reviewers: It's very gratifying to get positive reviews and especially those with additional comments. To "TalonKarrde847: You had a very good observation: see below—and that's what I get posting each chapter before the story's complete! LOL!

A/N: One thing bothers me a little about a lot of the fan fiction I've been reading here—there's more than just a little "hero worship" involved. I wanted to avoid that as much as possible—but fell "victim" to that tendency anyway. There was a mistake in Chapter Three that I've gone back and corrected. Again, my thanks go to TalonKarrde847 for pointing out the mistake. And this chapter has proven to be the hardest one to write, so far. Bear with me, people!

A/N: Lest anybody complain about the colonel's lack of use of "Rabb" as a last name, keep in mind, the colonel has been a professional woman for years—has fought very hard to achieve a certain degree of success, and would be very reluctant to abandon a very important element of self-definition like a name with success attached to it. In her social/private life, that's a whole different "kettle of fish".

Chapter 4: "They're Ba-a-a-a-c-k!"

1400 (Military Time) (2:00 p.m. Civilian Time) (Local Time)  
HQ JAG  
Falls Church, VA  
Three weeks after the transfer orders came down

At 1355, Greg made sure he was near the entrance to the JAG bullpen. He truly did have a notation for one of the petty officers in the bullpen to look up—but he timed it so he would ask him/her (he didn't care who looked up the notation) around 1400. Sure enough, at 1400, he looked at the door, and there they were—Captain Rabb was holding the door open for the Colonel. Greg squinted, but at this distance, he couldn't tell if they were wearing wedding rings or not. What he did notice was the colonel was out of uniform, dressed in a tailored cream colored suit that showed off her figure in as much detail as her green marine uniform ever did. There was something about her, a glamour shining through that was never apparent when she was in uniform

"Attention on Deck!" One of the Marine guards now posted at the door as a result of the attacks on 9/11, yelled out and the entire bullpen came to attention and now knew of their arrival. Greg wondered about that—he suspected not every captain in the fleet received that kind of "welcome"—but then he remembered Captain Rabb's new position: one step removed from the JAG himself. Military protocol at work, he thought.

They came through the door and Captain Rabb brought them all back to ease. "As you were." There was an easy confidence and authority that hadn't been there before—not that the arrogance/self confidence had ever been lacking. But the captain seemed much more "settled" than he had been in the last couple of years at headquarters. Greg wondered about that—and then he glanced at their hands. Sure enough: Captain Rabb was sporting a gleaming gold wedding band on his left hand and the colonel had a wedding set on hers. Inwardly, Greg smirked to himself. "Well, the captain had managed to bed the colonel and that _had_ to be confidence booster . . . "—a dream he himself had had on more than one occasion. He had conveniently stationed himself where they couldn't help but see him on their way to the General's office. The colonel, as she came closer, nodded coolly to him.

"Lieutenant," was her only comment. He noticed Captain Rabb had a tiny smile gracing his face. He himself was friendlier, actually coming over to shake his hand.

"Well, Lieutenant, how's it going?" Greg extended his hand in greeting, surprised at the effusive greeting. He saw the amused glance the colonel tossed their way and the answering, amused—and almost challenging glance--the Captain tossed her way. The tiny smile broadened into a grin.

"Fine, sir. How is London? —and congratulations," he paused to include the colonel, "to both of you on your marriage." He could imagine the women in the bullpen were just dying to know the details—and he himself was mildly wondering when and where.

"Thank you." Captain Rabb's face winced a fraction. He paused, and then added, "London is foggy, cold, and damp." The colonel just laughed at his response.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Greg saw the two newcomers, Captain Krennick and Commander Austin, come shooting out of their respective offices. This should be interesting, thought Greg, as he remembered what he had heard at lunch those three weeks ago.

He saw the Captain pause, survey Captain Rabb, and he could picture the mental wheels in her head spinning considering what approach to take. There was no such hesitation on Commander Austin's part. She hurried up to Captain Rabb, stood at attention, and greeted him. "Sir! It's good to see you again. And congratulations on both your promotion and your marriage."

Captain Rabb's wide grin (did Greg hear the colonel mutter under her breath, "Flyboy grin armed and launched!) appeared on his face. He said, "At ease, Commander. It's good to see you again!" A pause, a glance at the colonel, then, "How the hell are you, Meg?" Without waiting for her answer, he extended his arm to the colonel. The Commander shifted into the "at ease" position and then grinned back at the captain. "May I introduce you to my wife? Meg, meet Mac." Turning back to the colonel, he touched the Commander's elbow and pulled her forward for the introduction. "Mac, meet Meg Austin, my first partner."

Greg heard the colonel's soft voice took on an intimate intonation he was sure was for Captain Rabb's ears only, "Sailor, I'm glad you remembered I was here!" The colonel stepped forward extending her hand. Commander Austin extended her hand to meet it. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot about you, all good, I assure you."

Commander Austin's grin had a wholesome-down-to-earth element to it as she responded to the colonel's friendly tone of voice. "Yes, ma'am." There was the slightest pause, and then, "I couldn't wait to meet the woman who tamed the 'untamable' Rabb!" This time, the colonel's laughter was loud enough to echo through the entire bullpen.

"I bet we could exchange stories, then."

If possible, the Commander's grin got wider and friendlier. "Yes, ma'am." Greg saw her give the Captain a mischievous look and then give the colonel a slight bow of the head. "I think I would like that."

At that, the Captain leaned back and groaned. "Oh, man! Mac, maybe this wasn't such a good idea?" Greg saw the Captain give both women a look of innocence. "You wouldn't gang up on one 'helpless' male, would you?" At this, both women just grinned and glanced at each other. Greg saw the colonel nudge in the Captain's ribs.

"Flyboy, you're far from helpless!" The grins on the surrounding faces got wider and bigger, if that was possible. Greg found himself grinning.

At that moment, Captain Krennick stepped forward. "Captain, it's good to see you." Greg winced at the frosty tone to the voice and saw a guarded look come on both Captain Rabb's and the colonel's faces. What was more interesting to Greg was the colonel's instant reaction to the new voice in the mix—she stepped up to and just in front of Captain Rabb. In turn, the Captain put his left hand on the small of her back. Inwardly, Greg grinned—he recognized that signal: she's marking her territory! Oh, he was so glad he had stationed himself at this point. He wouldn't miss this for the world. If he "read" Captain Krennick correctly—and that was no guarantee, since Captain Krennick had only been in the office for three weeks--, a battle royal over Captain Rabb was about to commence. This was going to be entertaining for more than one reason: it's not every man who gets to see two women fighting over him, and Captain Rabb seemed to be extremely uncomfortable with the situation. Greg tried to shrink even smaller into the background to observe what would happen next. He wondered briefly what that would feel like, never having experienced that for himself.

""Captain." It was a polite nod.

Captain Krennick came up to stand next to Captain Rabb, just a shade on this side of inappropriate. Greg saw the look of annoyance flash across the colonel's face and then it was buried beneath a face displaying nothing more than polite interest. "It's been a few years."

"Yes, it has." Captain Rabb was clearly on the defensive.

"Who is this?" Captain Krennick's voice took on the voice of command and demand, a decidedly unpleasant combination few people could resist while cringing inwardly. Certainly Greg felt a couple of inches shorter than he already was.

"Captain, meet Sarah MacKenzie, my wife." There was a proprietary and protective tone to Captain Rabb's voice.

Before Captain Krennick could respond, the general arrived. Again, the bullpen came to attention as the Marine guard announced, "Attention on Deck." He waved an arm in the general direction of the bullpen. "As you were," and turned to face the group congregated by the door. "Ah, I see you made it! I'm sorry I was detained." He shook hands with both Captain Rabb and the colonel. "How long are you in town?" He invited them to move towards his office with an arm extended in front of him. Captain Rabb leaned down to pick up his briefcase, still keeping his other hand on the colonel's back.

It was the colonel who answered him. "Four days. We've lot a number of 'loose ends' to tie up." He heard the General laugh.

"That's the way moving always is. Always details." Greg thought he saw a significant glance tossed Captain Rabb's way. "Come on in my office. I believe you have some information for me. . ."

Captain Rabb made ready to follow the general. He said, "Before we go into your office, one detail to be handled is 'the wetting down'. There just wasn't enough time to plan that." He shook his head, looked at the general and the general nodded. "We just reserved a private room at McMurphys for anyone who wants to show up tonight—2000 hrs." The general nodded to Jen, who had lingered behind Greg somewhere.

"Take care of it, Coates." Jen nodded and added, before she walked back to her own desk.

"It was good to see both of you, sir."

"Same here. We'll see you tonight?"

"Yes, sir, ma'am. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

The Captain nodded to the two newcomers, and bent over to kiss his wife. "Sarah, I'll call you when I'm through."

Greg thought he heard the faintest of chuckles. "That was the plan. Take care of yourself, Sailor." He thought he saw her coldly survey Captain Krennick. "Don't let the—"and Greg swore she was searching for the appropriate phrase/word without offensive to others who might possibly be offended if she used the "b" word, "bloodsuckers get to you." She turned to the General. "Before you go, do you know where Commanders Roberts and Turner are?"

They were making their way to the general's office as they spoke. The general nodded. "They're in court." Greg thought he saw a sigh of disappointment come out of the colonel.

"I had thought to talk to either one and/or both of them before I left." She shook herself and gave the General a brilliant smile. "That's okay. I'll catch them later—or, better still, I'll call Harriet. I was going to do that, anyway."

"They'll be sorry they missed you." Greg thought he detected a note of regret in the general's voice. The general gestured to Captain Rabb. "After you." The captain and the general went into his office and closed the door. Greg regretted, not for the first time, not being a fly on the wall. He turned his attention to the colonel and the two new comers who were left standing just outside the General's door. There was enough tension in the air—Greg decided the most comparable analogy he could come up with at the moment was "cold air, generated by dry ice."

"Ladies," the colonel nodded, getting ready to leave. There was a noticeable thawing out when she spoke to Commander Austin. "I'll see you tonight?"

Commander Austin's response was enthusiastic. "You bet! I wouldn't miss it." Commander Krennick, who hadn't said a word, just nodded. Greg thought he saw more than just a degree of frustration on her face. Inwardly, he grinned. Round one to the colonel. This was going to be v-e-r-y interesting, the change in venue to a less structured scene. He found himself looking forward to the "wetting down". He turned and went back to his office, grabbing the notation research the petty officer in the bullpen had managed to look up while all of this was going on. In the meantime, he had a case to work on.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .


	5. The Captain's Table

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG—just doing the "what happened after" thing. . .

A/N: Many, many thanks to reviewers—you all help keep this thing on track and ongoing. (This was originally supposed to be a very short aftermath to the season finale—and it's turning into something much, much more. Posting is both confusing and tedious. Please be patient, as I'm still learning—and writing.) Thanks, again.

A/N: Note to "jaka" about the colonel's name:

Please keep in mind I like to keep as much "realism" as I can in this story, considering it's based on fictional characters. In the real world, reputations, thanks to the every-present rumor mill, travel with light-year speed. Mac would want to hang onto her well-earned reputation to find a job/new career within the civilian world—even in London. To take Harm's name in lieu of her own would be to lose that "kick-ass-take-no-prisoners" reputation as a litigator/investigator—or minimize it's impact at the very least. This is especially true in light of her medical condition—she may not be able to have children, so her career is very important to her self-identity. In addition, even within the JAG series world, Captain Rabb, while respected, is not universally loved, and taking his name might very well hinder her efforts at finding employment, perhaps within the defense/contractor universe (I have plans for her new position—but that comes later, thank you.). If you review the shows, it's not automatically assumed they come as a "partnership", especially since the Paraguay business.

In addition, Mac is portrayed in the series, as a fiercely independent woman who wants very much to be self-sufficient. (I can see future stories based on that struggle between learning to depend on a marriage partner and that desire to remain independent and self-sufficient as she defines herself, by the way.) She would be very reluctant to give up her own name for any man, including Harm. According to the series, she's approximately five years or so younger than Harm, as best I can figure out; as a result, she "came of age" in the aftermath of the feminist movement that flared up in the late 1960s. A big issue during that time was that of a woman **_having_** to give up her **ability to self identify** when she gave up her own birth name for that of the man she married. Having grown up in the '60s (and lost someone relatively close in Vietnam), I can also personally testify joining the Marine Corps during that time is not indicative of a women who would willingly and easily give up something so essential to her self-identity as her birth name—not without a real struggle, anyway.

On a personal note, I have a sister who is the same age as Mac would be, who's been happily married for 15 years and still goes by her maiden name, especially at work (she's a "professional", by the way). She still gets a little "ticked off" when people assume she's taken my brother-in-law's name, even in private. She's never even considered a hyphenated last name. And my brother-in-law has absolutely no problem with it—it's a "non-issue" for them. Given hints and clues throughout the actual televised series, I don't think Harm would have a problem with it, either—although I am willing to concede a hyphenated last name—but not at this point in the story.

Also, so much of the fan fiction I've read on this issue, has Mac giving in much too easily on this particular issue, thereby ignoring basic human psychology and how human nature really works. My thanks to you, in any case, because, after all this time, I didn't really it was such an issue with me personally. Obviously, by the length of this explanation, it is an issue—something I may need to work on myself. For that, I truly do thank you—self-knowledge is always important.)

A/N: Still "fumbling" with how to update stories. By the time this story ends, maybe I'll have it down pat. In the meantime, fans, be patient--unless somebody wants to email specific, detailed "how-tos" (Fan Fiction's "directions" are more than just a little "unspecific"--and I might as well confess my age, since the technology is starting to reveal my less-that-familiarity with the posting aspect--I'm 51 years old, for those who care.)

Chapter Five—"The Captain's Table"

2000 (Military Time) 8:00 p.m. (Civilian Time)  
McMurphy's Bar and Tavern--Privately Reserved Room  
Same Day/Night

"What is this I hear about something between you and Captain Krennick?" Commander Turner was nursing a martini, while Greg was sipping at a beer. Commanders Roberts, Turner, Keeter (someone Greg hadn't met before), Captain Rabb, Admirals Boone and Chedwiggen, the General, and he were all sitting at a table just a short distance from the bar. Down towards the other end of the bar, Greg noticed a cluster of women that included Harriet Simms-Roberts, the colonel, Captain Krennick, Commander Austin, and Congresswoman Bobbi Latham. Hanging at the fringes of that group were Lieutenant Graves and Petty Officer Coates. Other JAG personnel, such as Commander Mattonie, were hanging up at the pool table or sitting in booths. Even Admiral Morris was present, for just a short time. Greg had seen him stay just long enough to greet both Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie with handshakes, grins, and best wishes to be exchanged. Then he had left. Greg thought he recognized Midshipman Roberts, here from the Academy for just this occasion, at the jukebox trying to find a selection he liked. Earlier in the evening, he noticed all the women (including the infamous Captain Krennick) had gathered around the colonel chattering about something relatively safe, Greg assumed—the details of the wedding. He could see the colonel showing off her wedding ring set. He hated to admit he was somewhat interested, but there were far more important things on his agenda—like getting the scoop on Captain Krennick.

In response to Commander Turner's question, Captain Rabb groaned and took another sip from his draft beer. "There's absolutely nothing there, Sturgis." He looked at Commander Roberts. "Bud, would you please tell them?"

Commander Roberts grinned. "And spoil the speculation?"

They all laughed. Commander Keeter (apparently an old, close friend from Academy days—so Greg had been told), raised his drink and said, "Here's to speculation."

Admiral Chegwidden broke in. "Speculation, hell! It's plain gossip." Greg grinned to himself. Whoever said men didn't gossip sure as hell didn't know what they were talking about. Commander Keeter put his glass back down and turned to Captain Rabb.

"Come on, give. Where there's smoke, there's usually a little bit of spark."

Within the noisy confines of the bar, a quiet fell upon their group. Greg could see the Captain staring into his beer and compose his thoughts.

"Guys, there's absolutely nothing there. She was just a bit—aggressive."

Commander Roberts snorted, spilling a little bit of his beer, and raised an eyebrow. "You forget, Captain. I was there for at least some of it." He turned to the other men. "I got it from Commander Austin. Captain Krennick actually admitted to her, she—the Captain—wanted to sleep with Captain Rabb." A frown of concentration crossed the Commander's face, and Greg, who was in the process of lifting his drink to his mouth, stopped in mid-air. It was rare to hear of a superior officer admit to sexual desire for someone under her chain of command—career implications and all being in the mix. He had assumed Captain Krennick was too ambitious and/or professional to openly admit to something that could have been a career-buster under the right circumstances. "I think this was when Captain Rabb was in China."

China? Greg looked at Captain Rabb. He was distinctly uncomfortable. Greg saw the Captain throw a glance at Commander Roberts. "Bud, that's all classified." Commander Roberts threw the glance back at Commander Rabb.

"The 'social' aspects aren't." He turned serious for a minute, and Greg got the impression the world had shrunk to a small conversation between the two old friends. "Don't you think, Harm,"—it was the only time Greg heard Commander Roberts call the Captain by his given name, especially in front of office peers, "they should know about this for their own good?" Was Commander Roberts more ambitious than he let on? For some reason, he was really on a tear about Captain Krennick. Or was Captain Krennick one of those rare individuals Commander Roberts really disliked on site and in principle? Greg tucked that little bit of additional information in that mental file he had inwardly labeled "Rabb/MacKenzie". Captain Rabb got an intense look on his face as he stared at Commander Roberts. There seemed to be a wordless conversation between the two, and then Captain Rabb sighed.

"You're right, Bud. Damn it, anyway." The captain lifted his hand to his head and "combed" his head with his fingers. He looked down at the floor and then back up at Commander Roberts and grinned, rather ruefully, Greg thought. "I hate it when that happens." Commander Roberts just grinned, innocence personified.

The general was, Greg saw, "all ears"—and, for the moment, all professional. "Spill it, Captain. This is someone directly under my direct command—and in my office—" acknowledging Captain Rabb, as Force JAG-NATO Europe, was also under his direct command, if distantly—"if there's something I need to know, I want to hear about it."

Captain Rabb got the "deer-in-the-headlights" look about his face. He glanced at Admiral Chedwiggen. "Sir—", he started. The admiral waved his potential objections away.

"I didn't hear about it. If I didn't hear about, I couldn't do anything about it." The admiral's voice got a bit gruff, as if to hide whatever emotions he was feeling. "Son, I think you could have handled it better if you had reported it to me—but you didn't. And the general's right. The regs against 'fraternization' exist primarily for this very reason." His eyelids narrowed as he studied Captain Rabb. "If that aviator ego of yours hadn't gotten in the way, maybe—just maybe, she wouldn't still be in the service at the moment." He sighed. "Instead, those self-same regs got in the way between you and Mac." He shook his head. "Talk about the 'law of unintended consequences'!"

There was a silence—what Greg would have described as "pregnant pause" if he had chosen to put words to describe the current situation. He saw Captain Rabb lean back in his chair, tipping it on it's back legs, and stretch his own long legs. Keeter saw it, and his eyebrows went up. "Knee?"

Captain Rabb nodded. "My flying days are over," he regretfully said. Greg saw the wistful look he cast over to the group of women with the focus on one woman in particular.

Commander Keeter took a gulp of beer and snorted. "At least, no more punch outs!" Captain Rabb turned his gaze back to his fellow aviator and commented,

"That's something," he admitted. Greg was impatient. It was almost as if Captain Rabb was using diversionary tactics to avoid talking about a fellow officer. A flash of admiration for the Captain's sense of ethics passed through him—and then vanished. He _really_ wanted to know the truth behind the rumors he had heard about Captain Krennick. It was the general who brought the conversation back to Captain Krennick—and it was with the infamous "command" voice a full career in the Marines had perfected.

"Captain. I want to hear this."

Rabb automatically started straightening up, as if to come to attention, a lifetime of training making the response almost automatic, and then relaxed. He leaned back against the chair and stared at his commanding officer. "Sir, bottom-line truth is some people would say she was sexually harassessing me." He was obviously uncomfortable with the topic. "I chose not to bring charges because I thought I could handle it." He attempted to shrug the whole issue away. "It's not that important—and that was years ago!" Greg's face stayed immobile, but he shot a sharp glance at the Captain. Apparently, he wasn't as "tuned in" to the rumor mill as he, Greg, had assumed.

Admiral Boone snorted. (What the hell was his connection with Rabb, anyway? As soon as Greg spotted the wings on the admiral's chest, he figured it was thorough aviation—but he sensed the relationship went far deeper than just work comrades, deeper than superior officer/mentor to young student.) "Harm, part of it was your tendency to be oblivious to what's going on around you." He glanced at the new Captain and raised his eyebrows. "It's called 'target-fixated.'"

Much to Greg's surprise, the Captain stood his ground. "Admiral, if you remember, sexual harassment charges were brought against you and almost grounded your career." Greg saw the Captain's eyebrows come together in an effort to concentrate on details he had long since forgotten. He leaned forward and practically hissed: "Remember Lieutenant Issacson?"

Admiral Boone's face grimaced and frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Yeah, but that was different. There was absolutely no basis for those charges, as you well know." A serious, solemn glance was exchanged between the two men. Greg looked around and saw the looks of curiosity on their faces and was sure it was reflected on his own. No one else looked like they were going to speak, so he decided to jump in. "Sounds like there's a story there." It was Greg's way of inviting either one of the two men to share the incident with the rest of the group.

Captain Rabb sighed. "Lieutenant Issacson was an incompetent F-14 pilot who insisted the CAG—Admiral Boone at the time—put her in the air to prove she wasn't." He looked straight at Commander Keeter. "She plowed the bird right into the ramp."

Greg saw Keeter's face scrunch up in a grimace. "Ramp strike." Captain Rabb was fingering his beer glass and exchanged a look at Keeter.

"Yeah. Like mine—except she didn't survive." Captain Rabb took a swig of beer and then swallowed. "Damn near cost the Admiral the best RIO either of us had, too."

The general sighed. "I guess I'm going to have to keep an eye on Captain Krennick." He looked across at Captain Rabb. "I've heard the scuttlebutt but I had hoped it was just that. Hearing it from someone who's actually experienced it, however, is something else entirely. . ." Greg thought he saw Commander Roberts heave a sigh of relief.

Just then, Commander Austin and Captain Krennick came up to the table. It was the Captain who spoke. "Do you mind if we join you?"

A guilty silence fell over the group for all of 30 seconds, then the men sitting at the table stood up to shuffle chairs to make room for the two women. Greg noticed Captain Rabb was glancing over the table where the other women were laughing and glanced that way. He was, therefore, in a position to see the colonel glance over and catch the captain's gaze. She got up and came over to join the newcomers. There was more chair shuffling and they settled back in. Greg thought this might prove to be interesting.

"So. What were you talking about?" This was the colonel asking the question. Greg took the opportunity to study her up close. She really looked good—in fact, the word Greg would have used would be "glowing". Sitting by her husband, she was slouching over in his direction and he had grabbed her hand. Greg inwardly snorted. It looked as though he intended to hold it all evening, judging by the way he was hanging on. Captain Rabb himself shifted in his chair to make it easier for him to look at her. Observing him, Commander Turner laughed.

"Man, have you guys got it bad!" He was graced with a couple of blushes.

Captain Rabb looked at his wife and told her as he leaned in his head for a kiss, "We were walking down memory lane." Greg saw her eyebrows go up.

"Rehashing the 'good ol' days'?" Captain Rabb blushed again. Greg glanced over to Commander Austin and caught a look of intensity on her face, as though she was studying the group dynamics. He didn't think they had tipped their hand in ending their discussion of the now-present Captain Krennick, but apparently they hadn't fooled Commander Austin altogether.

She leaned towards the colonel. "You said you had lots of stories about the captain."

The colonel nodded and then leaned forward to speak to Commander Austin. "Yes, I do. But I'd be more interested in hearing about Harm when you were his partner." She gave the Captain a saucy look and then turned back to Commander Austin. "I won't even ask if he ever tried to 'hit' on you. Knowing Harm, he probably didn't—too much the gentlemen. But I would bet he had a girlfriend or two along the way."

"Call me Meg." That wholesome, toothy grin appeared. "No, he never hit on me—but he wasn't above 'teasing'—and girlfriends," there was a momentary frown, "I don't remember anyone specifically—although there was--." She leaned forward as if to challenge the Captain. "Remember the Thai ambassador's wife?"

Captain Rabb just rolled his head and looked at his wife. He ignored everyone's gasp of shock. "Just because she saw a flower the lady left at my apartment, Meg thought I had slept with her." He switched his gaze back to her in a challenging way.

Commander Austin just shrugged her shoulders. "Well, you were acting all goo-goo over her. What was I supposed to think?" She demanded. Greg noticed the colonel was "all ears", but she didn't say a word. The captain turned to his wife. Greg could hardly catch the words—the Captain's voice was so low—and he sensed there was a whole lot more to this story, too.

"She reminded me of a girl I met while I was in 'Nam."

Greg realized this was still another shock. He did the arithmetic and stared at Captain Rabb. He ventured into the conversation. "Sir, you were in Vietnam? You would have been 16—or thereabouts!" The Captain acted embarrassed and glanced at the colonel. There was still another one of those "wordless" conversations.

"Yeah, well, I thought my father might still be alive and since nobody else seemed interested in looking for him, I decided I had to." Greg couldn't decide whether this was the biggest shock of all. If he was arrogant, then he came by it naturally and with cause. "Vietnam" was just history to him, but he couldn't imagine too many 16-year olds—or thereabouts—with the gumption and the courage to travel overseas on a somewhat dangerous mission. His own wacky offbeat sense of humor tried to come to grips with this: "Intimidation factor number 460!" is what his mind said to him.

The mixed group had gotten real quite, as if in silent tribute to the Captain's individual courage and then Commander Austin stirred. "I'm sorry if I stirred anything painful up." Her apology was full of regret—which brought forth that "flyboy" grin.

"Don't worry about it, Meg. Those issues got put to rest a long time ago." Greg thought he saw a squeeze of the joined hands and a small, intimate smile exchanged between the newly-weds. Greg saw Meg stir again, and sure, enough, she had another question—this one was directed at Captain Krennick, who had been silent all this time, observing and listening. She was sitting close to the table, her elbows planted solidly, and her torso leaning forward, as if not to miss a single word. Greg had the uneasy feeling she was just laying in wait, much like a tiger stalks it's prey very patiently until the right time to pounce.

"Captain, you know I respect you a lot, and normally, I wouldn't ask—" Captain Krennick chewed on a chip half-loaded with salsa, and responded.

"Go ahead and ask. I can always refuse to answer." She was remarkably casual.

Greg saw a faint blush on the Commander's face. "Do you remember when I was shot in the office? I never did get all the details."

Greg was astonished when he saw both Captains exchange a glance—and it wasn't a glance of hostility or even guardedness. It was a glance that was loaded with empathy and mutual memory. Captain Krennick spoke first. "You were shot because some assassin had inadvertently faxed an itinerary of Boris Yeltsen's visit to the United States to your office."

Captain Rabb snorted. "Yeah. Those files are probably classified and buried so far deep in the Pentagon nobody could find them!"

Greg closed his eyes and reminded himself to breath. After three weeks or so of gathering information on Rabb/MacKenzie, he really shouldn't be surprised any more about hearing anything that could have/might have/or did happen. But Boris Yeltsen? He opened his eyes and was surprised to hear Admiral Chegwidden's voice chime in. "I was furious when it happened." The admiral glanced at Captain Rabb. "Rabb had both Captain Krennick and myself down his neck that time," he informed the group. Greg glanced over to Captain Rabb, who had the grace to look sheepish. "Rabb had the audacity to dump his workload on Commander Austin so he could go to lunch with an Academy classmate." The colonel laughed—and her laughter threatened to get out of control.

"So he did that to you, too!" she could barely breath. Captain Rabb gave her a dirty look—and then grinned. She slapped his shoulder gently and turned to Commander Austin. "I can't even tell you how many times he would dump his paperwork on me because 'something's come up' or 'I've got an emergency meeting' or whatever."

Commander Austin grinned. "It's nice to know some things never change."

Admiral Chedwiggen chomped down on a chip and then looked at Captain Rabb with a mock stern look on his face. "Revenge is sweet, Captain. It will be interesting to see how you deal with such situations when—not if, but when—one of your people gets out of line." The colonel broke out in another round of giggles, and this time, Commander Austin joined her. Greg glanced around and saw very broad smiles on every face. Commander Turner's face, especially, was an interesting study and his eyes seemed to be clouded with something like—was that resentment?—and then they cleared. The admiral continued, "I would be very interested in hearing about your handling of your personnel." He grinned—and there was a little touch of maliciousness there—"Keep me advised." He skipped a beat, then added, "That's an order." That broke the colonel up again, along with Commanders Turner and Roberts. Apparently, there was a private, inside joke there and Greg felt a flash of intense jealousy.

Greg was observing Captain Rabb covertly and saw a great deal of embarrassment there. Greg thought he could observe Rabb debating whether to say anything in his own defense when the colonel leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Rabb visibly relaxed and picked up his drink with his one free hand while still maintaining a hold on her hand, nestled quite comfortably and naturally in his much bigger hand. It was Captain Krennick who brought them back to the original question.

"Anyway, " and she shot Captain Rabb a sharp glance, "Captain Rabb almost went off the deep end—but we got the assassin just in time. Meanwhile," and Greg swore up and down, there was a hint of warmth in her glance at Commander Austin, "you were in the intensive care unit at Bethesda in a coma. But, basically, that's what that's all about. Any more questions?" Greg could not read the Commander's face at all but he had a hint a few pieces of her own particular puzzle, whatever that might be, had just fallen into place. Commander Austin shook her head and took a sip out of the straw that graced her strawberry marguerite.

The colonel leaned forward. "I take it this is going to be story for story, right?" Everybody at the table nodded. She turned to the general. "I'll have you know, General, Harm made one fine undercover recon marine----." At the general's startled look, she winked at him and then looked at her husband. "albeit very early in his career." Greg thought the Captain was searching his memory banks and then a look of recognition came over his face.

"That would be the investigation into the training techniques of ------" he turned to the colonel, as he seemingly drew a blank.

"Captain Coonin, if I remember correctly." She giggled –and Greg thought he would never get used to this new "Sarah" which had never come unveiled in the office—but suspected the Captain had had plenty of opportunity to get to know—and long before their marriage—and turned to her former commanding officer. "It was the first time where I outranked him—he went undercover as a 'gunny sergeant'—a 'gunny sergeant' with wings, even! --and I had to remind him"—and she had one of the cutest quirks on her face as she recalled the event, "'it is customary to salute an officer—gunny.'" Then she broke up in laughter. "I just loved it!" Greg glanced at Captain Rabb—and damn if that "flyboy" grin didn't appear once again.

"Those damn wings. . ." Greg thought he heard the colonel mutter. Keeter caught that and just grinned.

"Problem, Mac?" Keeter asked. Before she had a chance to answer, he turned to his old friend and classmate. "Can anyone imagine Rabb _without_ wings?" There was a skipped beat, then, "You know, pal, for a lawyer, it seems like you got in the air a lot!" There was a startled look from the new Captain, and then a look of guilt. Greg thought he saw an element of fear cross the colonel's face, but it was gone when he took a second look. He wasn't sure he had even seen it.

Captain Krennick broke in. "When did you get your wings back, Rabb? If I remember correctly, you weren't wearing them when I was first here. And for damn sure, I don't remember any cases where you actually flew." Greg thought he detected a challenge in her voice.

"Oh, that." Greg saw the Captain look at Admiral Boone, as if to ask permission. The Admiral shrugged. "It's your story, Harm."

Attention shifted back to the Captain. "That happened before Admiral Chedwiggen arrived as CO. Admiral Boone had promised a reporter he could go up in a tomcat as payback for holding onto a story about a missing female aviator." The Captain just shrugged. Greg saw the admiral lean back.

"Harm, you're just not going to give, are you?" Admiral Boone looked at the Captain, and there was that little shrug, again.

"Hey, it's your story as much as mine," The Captain protested.

"Fine." The Admiral turned to the group and leaned forward. "Harm had promised the reporter two—mind you, two—rides in return to hanging onto the story until all the facts were in. Neither the captain of the carrier—I forget which one—nor I appreciated it." Greg glanced at the admiral and saw a look of bemused familiarity. "The first ride he went up in, I turned up the heat in the backseat." The aviators in the crowd chuckled, including the Captain.

At the look of mystification from the remainder of the group, Commander Keeter explained. "When you combine heat with a certain number of g-forces, it creates a mess—unless you have a barf bag!" He chuckled, took another sip from his beer, discovered it was empty and motioned to the hovering waitress he needed a refill.

Attention turned back to Admiral Boone. "Yeah, well, as a result, the reporter decided he didn't want to go back up for the second ride. Harm went up, instead. It's a good thing, too—we took some fire and the bird was damaged. I took a blow to the head and bordered on unconsciousness for a while. Harm got the bird down _despite_ it being five years since he had trapped." Admiral Boone shook his head and then glanced at the Captain. "I owe him my life that day—I wouldn't have survived a punch out at the point."

Captain Rabb snorted and took a drink from his beer bottle, glanced at the admiral. "I was a naval aviator—it was my job to bring you home. Besides that, I really didn't want to punch out again. Man, oh, man, if I had only known. . ." He unconsciously rubbed his knee. He looked at Captain Krennick, "As to actually wearing the wings, it took months to get the paperwork processed to get actual authorization to wear them again—properly."

The colonel looked at Captain Krennick as she nudged her husband. "You might want to tell the Captain how you changed your designator, too, a couple of years later." Greg sensed some underlying tension between the Captain and the colonel on that issue. He saw him give her a look of exasperation, but then yielded. He looked directly at the other Captain at the table.

"You know about the diagnosis of night blindness? Turns out, I was misdiagnosed. I had laser surgery done on the eyes to get rid of scar tissue, and I was fine for flying, day or night. I decided I wanted to go back to flying full time." He glanced at the Admiral. "That created some friction, if I remember right." Greg saw him squeeze the colonel's hand, and added, "with more than one person."

Admiral Chedwiggen snorted, putting his drink on the table and leaned forward. "Damn right. I really did think it was career suicide." He leaned back and a look of satisfaction came onto his face. "I'm glad I was proven wrong on that issue."

Admiral Boone shot a pointed look at the colonel. Apparently, Greg decided, he felt close enough to both to "rag" the colonel as well. "It seems like every time a trip to a carrier was longer than a day or so, the colonel wasn't far behind you!" Greg heard, rather than saw, Admiral Chedwiggen grunt. "Here's another story about the Captain and his fighter jets." All attention turned to Admiral Boone. "It was at Christmas time—and he and I both had business out on a carrier—I forget which one. We both were trying to get home before the holiday—and the COD broke the trip wire that meant we weren't going to get home. The CAG just so happened to have an F-14 he wanted ferried back to the states and Harm conned the jocks scheduled to fly it home into letting us do it instead." The Admiral grinned at the Captain, and Greg thought he heard, "'Jennifer Lopez' my ass!'" (Greg sighed to himself; another "insider" joke—would he ever hear all of the details?) "The CAG wasn't too happy about the substitution—that F-14 Harm dumped into the sea the summer before happened to his 'bird'—but he let us go ahead, with one proviso: if Harm deviated in _any way, shape, or form_ from the flight plan in the tiniest detail, the CAG was going to have his wings, if not his stripes. On the way back to Norfolk, there was a Marine cargo flight loaded with 'Toys for Tots' that had lost their instrument landing equipment due to a malfunction and they needed a visual guide in. Harm decided it was a worthy cause, although I did ask him just how many people he intended to piss off that day." Admiral Boone got a wicked smile on his face and he looked at the other Admiral. "You want to know what his response was?"

Admiral Chedwiggen kept a straight face as he replied, "Do I really want to know? With Rabb it's hard telling what his response was."

Admiral Boone laughed. "'Everybody but you.'"

Greg saw Captain Rabb wiggled a little in his chair, leaned over to whisper in the colonel's ear, and then broke in. "In my own defense, I had nothing to do with those circumstances—we even inadvertently found a weather balloon for the weather people!"

At that, Admiral Boone laughed out loud. "Yeah—we crashed into it!"

The crowd around the table, including Captain Krennick, burst out in laughter.

Greg sensed a restlessness in Captain Rabb and he was right. The Captain let loose of her hand, stood up, and leaned over. "I think it's time for a dance, Mac." She looked up at him and stood, reaching for that missing hand. "Lead on, Sailor."

The general spoke up for the first time in a long time. "I've seen his service record—the classified one, and it's incredible what that man has done." He glanced at his current staff. "At the risk of losing authority, I will confess to a certain amount of admiration."

Admiral Chedwiggen chuckled. "General, I can only hope most of that 'wildness' is gone. Otherwise, you're in for a very interesting time. I was already bald when I became Judge Advocate General—but I'm certain, between the two of them, I lost what hair I might have regained."

Admiral Boone, beckoning for a refill of his own drink, spoke up. "You know what 'gets' me? He's a genuine American hero—good thing, with those looks—but he just doesn't 'get' it. For a naval aviator, he's incredibly modest" He accepted the refill from the waitress with a mumbled "thanks" and then continued. "Reminds me a lot of his father—except his father was never the aviator Harm has turned out to be."

This caught Greg's attention. "You knew his father?"

Admiral Boone just nodded. "I was 'Hammer's' wingman in Viet Nam."

Greg sipped his nearly empty beer and thought about that. One mystery cleared up, anyway. He almost missed Admiral Boone's next comment, it was said in such a low voice—but Admiral Chedwiggen also caught it and looked up sharply at his fellow flag officer. "I owe that boy my life and career two—three—times over."

"Never mind, I got dumped in the National Forest flying with him!" Admiral Chedwiggen chuckled. "I got a dog out of the deal, so I guess it wasn't all that bad.." The admiral pretended to be thinking. "Let's see—he shot up a courtroom ceiling, he threatened to resign his commission at least twice—and actually did, once—got court-martialed once and was threatened with another one, dumped how many—what, three--four?—F-14s into the ocean. And the man ends up one step below JAG! The man has more lives than a cat!"

Admiral Boone's voice was sharp; Greg decided this had to be because of a lifelong friendship with Captain Rabb. "Don't forget he brought 'home' more planes than he dumped—when any other pilot would have punched out or left someone behind. He has also saved the Navy in millions of dollars through his sleuthing of potential payroll thefts on aircraft carriers of one kind or another."

Greg saw an amused look exchanged between the two flag officers. His mind was numb with all the stories he had heard about the Captain—he didn't think he was capable of shock anymore—he just made a note that Rabb had managed to dump a 2-star from an F-14 to add to his internal file. He would have to try to find out more about the courts-martial, though. That was a new one on him. Better yet, he had to figure out a way to read the unedited service record of the Captain—without being caught. Project number 20, he figured in his own mind, to be filed under the category "Rabb/MacKenzie".

"So, Admiral," there was an easy camaraderie between the two flag officers, "do you think Mac's going to be good for him?" Admiral Boone was casually draped on his chair and Greg saw the question in the raised eyebrows. He saw Admiral Chedwiggen's brows come together in a frown thinking. He finally answered Admiral Boone.

"Hell, yes! She's the only one in the office that stood up to him—besides Turner and Roberts, that is. She keeps him on his toes and calls him on his obsessions. Turner and Roberts won't even do that." Greg saw the admiral frown grow deeper, as he concentrated more. "Of course, Commander Brumbe gave him a good run for the money—and in more than one way, especially where the colonel was concerned." Greg thought if the general was a dog, his ears would have picked up.

"Want to enlighten me, gentlemen? I still have to deal with him—if not her." That cryptic remark drew sharp glances from both flag officers and Greg's face showed his astonishment. Commanders Turner and Roberts both looked at each other. There was something in the works that no one was prepared to say anything about. The general just shrugged his shoulders.

Admiral Chegwidden turned to the current JAG. "Sir, Turner was his old Academy classmate—and his stint as 'acting JAG' damn well nearly destroyed that friendship." Greg saw Turner's nod of acknowledgement. He figured the retired JAG still had his sources—and, in this case, he suspected Commander Turner himself. He noticed the Admiral was still frowning in concentration. "Although I think there was more to that than just being 'acting JAG'. Roberts, here, has gotten under the radar screen, so to speak." He chuckled. "I remember when Mac and Rabb both, individually went up against Roberts when Roberts first became an attorney. His 'aw-shucks, I don't know anything' attitude, genuine as it was at the time, threw both of them off their game and the finest lawyers I've ever had the privilege of knowing, both lost. I understand, though," and Greg was impressed the admiral displayed knowledge of the rumor mill as it had existed at the time, "he warned her about that—and it still did no good." He raised his glass in salute to Commander Roberts, "Remember I told you, you had the makings of a great litigator?" Greg saw Commander Roberts nod. "Congratulations, Roberts. You've arrived." The Admiral drew a gulp from his drink.

Greg saw the blush of pleasure at the compliment going across the Commander's face. "I learned from the best," he said simply. The warmth of the glance the retired JAG gave Commander Roberts was almost embarrassing. "I've heard both of them mutter under their breaths they thought perhaps they had trained you too well, Commander."

Greg made still another mental note to himself—maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to pay more attention to Commander Roberts' litigating style—especially since he, himself, had suffered a defeat at the Commander's hands. He looked at the Commander with something like new respect. In the meantime, there were two ladies at the table that had been practically ignored. By this time, Captain Rabb and the colonel had finished their dance and were making their way back. He turned to Captain Krennick. "Can I have the pleasure of this dance, ma'am?"

For his efforts, he got a cool look, a shrug, and then a "Why not?" She nodded to the rest of the party at the table, "If you will excuse us. . ." The rest of the party just nodded their heads.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

A/N: This has been the most difficult chapter to write—there's so much material to work with—hard to know what to include and what to leave out. There's more coming, though—already partially written. Broke this up into two chapters—at least. And a note to those of you who want email from me—please email me back. I wear bifocals and I have a difficult time, if not impossible, making out the email addresses the way has them set up. (Giving away my age, I know.)


	6. In the Tiger's Den

Disclaimer: Don't own Jag—If I did, there would be TV movies about the new life and work in London (are you listening, DSB?)

A/N: For my reviewers: going to have to make a point of posting once a week for a couple of reasons:

The story is getting much more complex—and, therefore, more difficult to write to make it "work". I need to spend more time editing/rewriting than what I've been doing to keep it "authentic" and "within character" and still have certain things work out the way I want them. Thanks, by the way, for the hints on updating. Will try those and see if posting goes any better (I think I've pinpointed my difficulty: it's the "exporting" business that has me confused, at least at this point.)

A/N: Real life is beginning to intrude BIG time, meaning there is less time to spend writing. Will try to post every week at the same time—will advise when I plan to schedule that posting. And Thanks to all for the reviews!

A/N: About "Knocker House" later on—it's been 20 or 30 years since I've been to Washington D.C.—don't have a clue as to the local pancake houses—so I just made it up. It is supposed to be a combination between Village Inn and I-Hop, for those who are familiar with either and/or both pancake houses.

A/N: A word about "Greg": Throughout season 10, Lt. Vucovik was portrayed as a brash, arrogant, and aggressive very young lawyer—which are traits Captain Rabb displayed from the beginning. (If you don't believe me, review the very early episodes, including the series premier.) In this story, he is far from showing that bravado, except occasional. This necessarily shouldn't bother anyone, since he's doing what everyone else, regardless of temperament, does— comparing his actually feeling—and not necessarily showing them—with everyone's "public persona". It is my personal contention, with the possible exception of the Paraguay business, this is what the professional writers were doing with Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie. As unhappy as I was with the way the series went the last two or three years, from a human psychology stance, it made sense—especially after Paraguay.

A/N: Anybody know/remember Lt. Graves' first name, by the way? There is a purpose to the data-collecting Greg is doing (besides being a nice literary device to retell the history of the last ten years in a different way). The reason will be revealed later. Have faith, okay

Chapter Six—Into the Tiger's Den

2200 (Military Time) 10:00 p.m. (Civilian Time)  
McMurphy's Bar and Tavern  
Same Day/Same Night

Greg found, to his pleasure, Captain Krennick wasn't all that unattractive, even close up in a dance embrace. She was definitely older—she must be in her mid-to-upper 50s—but she was a very attractive 50's woman. He found much to admire in her—her drive, her ambition that had been banked but not extinguished. "So, you've been here three weeks. How do you like it so far?"

She shook her blonde hair and focused her mildly alcoholic-glazed eyes on him. She sighed. "It's different than when I left. A whole lot of newer, younger people about whom I haven't a clue." She nodded over to the table where the Rabbs were sitting. "I knew him when he first came to JAG. He was brash, impulsive, impetuous, and stubborn—and one hell of an attractive package, even without wings. Her—"she snorted, "Well, I wouldn't have pegged her as his 'type'—a Marine, for God's sake! He would really look good with a blonde—but I supposed that's rather superficial, isn't it?" He glanced over to them: Captain Rabb wasn't quite sprawled in one chair; the colonel was sitting as close as she could decently get, and his arm was draped on the back of her chair—not quite protective, but definitely a signal to other "alpha" males in the room. Their combined postures literally screamed, "He/She's MINE!" Greg saw Captain Krennick's mouth turn downward in a tiny frown of disapproval—just briefly—and then it disappeared. "I've never seen him look so—" Greg thought he could see her mental wheels spinning, looking for the right word—"possessive, at least in public."

Greg twirled her around the dance floor one more time. He laughed. "I never dreamed, in the short time I've known the colonel, I would see her so open with PDAs." Captain Krennick turned her attention on him, and he realized he blushed when those steel-blue eyes examined his face in detail.

"And how long have you worked with the colonel and Captain Rabb?"

"I've been here at JAG for a little over a year. The general told me the colonel was supposed to be my 'mentor'." He shrugged. "Never could get really close to her, though. She is one of the most 'private' individuals I've ever met. I did learn a lot from her about legal strategy and research." He grinned. "I'm beginning to understand just why she's so private." The Captain's eyebrows shot up in a questioning look. He stared right back into those eyes. He wasn't about to admit to a superior officer his data-gathering project. He also found himself thinking the captain in his arms wasn't nearly as intimidating as Captain Rabb had turned out to be, nor, at least for this night, nearly as "cold" as she was reputed to be. "As far as Captain Rabb, I've only known him by reputation—although we did work on a case together just right before their transfer orders came down. I found him—" this time, it was his turn to search for the right word, "a worthy and challenging colleague." Just right. He decided it was about time to not yield an inch to Captain Rabb, even in his own mind. Greg once again felt the speculative inspection look from those steel-blue eyes. "Tell me, Captain, what's the scuttlebutt in the field about the two of them?" He kept his voice light, mildly curious, and held his breath. Gossiping about superior officers was frowned on, although never defined specifically in the UCMJ like fraternization was, and gossiping with a superior officer about another superior officer definitely was not done. But, Greg justified in his own mind, this was a "wetting-down", a celebration of a promotion, and when was there a more appropriate time to talk about the same superior officer than that? In fact, he smugly thought, he could make a good case the "wetting down" custom was an unofficially sanctioned event to do just that.

Captain Krennick's face almost puckered into a sour-grapes grimace. "The legal team of MacKenzie/Rabb made their mark a long time ago. They were known as brilliant investigators and tigers in the courtroom, especially as a pair." The pucker straightened out into a simple frown. "A lot of what I heard bordered on hero-worship—and I find that both surprising and offensive, not just to me, personally, but to all the other JAG lawyers out there." A thoughtful look appeared on that face. "There really hasn't been too much of that sort of thing in the last three years or so. In fact," and Greg watched the surprise slowly take over as she thought about it, "there hasn't been much scuttlebutt for over two years. It's like—"and Greg saw her look long and hard at the couple—"they up and 'died!. I didn't give that much thought until now, but it's almost as if there was a breakup of the team." The surprise disappeared and she shrugged. "I can't imagine Admiral Chedwiggen letting that happen, though." She turned her full attention back to Greg. He was momentarily taken back by the full focus of those blue eyes and equally startled when she moved in closer to him. "Tell me about yourself," and Greg thought, if he closed his eyes, he could almost see her purr. If she were a cat, she would have been winding herself around his legs and meowing, in the manner of domesticated cats demanding attention and lavishing affection on their owners all at the same time—and by the way, marking their own territory. His mouth quirked just a little at the thought: he was sure, from what little he had heard of Captain Krennick, she wouldn't have minded either the feline analogy nor the thought of "feline multi-tasking", either, for that matter. He responded to her initiated closeness by automatically pulling her closer to him.

"Myself?"

"Yes. Career ambitions. Personal likes/dislikes, etc." There was a challenge in those eyes, as well as a demand showing through. He smiled at her—a certain part of his body was telling him he was thoroughly enjoying this challenging woman in his arms. Another one of those "epiphany moments" jumped into his mind—maybe that why he found Colonel MacKenzie so irresistible. When a personally powerful and authoritative woman "pushed" him in any way, shape, or form, be it in professional life or on other levels and in other places, he was really turned on. He was perceptive enough to realize he and Captain Rabb were enough alike to suspect the captain was challenged in like manner by the colonel.

"Are you pushing, Captain?"

"Damn right, I am, Lieutenant!"

Greg's grin grew wider, purposefully twinged with a small "dash" of wickedness. "I like older, more experienced women—especially when they get 'demanding' on me." A sideways tilt to the smile on her face and a startled and amused glance at him told him his double entendre had hit home.

"Be careful, Lieutenant. I could 'eat you' for breakfast.'"

"Keep pushing, Captain. I think you might find this 'meat' a little tough to swallow." Challenge issued and—challenge accepted. Greg became aware the music had stopped and they were alone, standing in the middle of the dance floor. He pulled away from her and gave her a little old-fashioned bow, "Thank you for the dance, Captain. I thoroughly enjoyed myself." That was for public consumption.

She leaned into him and said, "So did I. We'll discuss this later." Her tone left no doubt she had every intention of following up. He walked back to the group of men surrounding Captain Rabb and found himself the object of much scrutiny. He looked into Captain Rabb's eyes and found an amused interested expression, complete with warning signals, on his face. "Well, well, well. The sacrificial lamb survived his encounter with the tiger." There were muffled snorts from the remainder of the men. He flushed.

"Oh, she's not so bad once you get to know her," was all he said. Captain Rabb sat up suddenly and Greg found himself on the receiving end of a very intense stare. "Vucovik, not that it makes any difference and you'll listen, but watch yourself. You're literally 'playing with fire' there."

Greg felt a flush of real resentment flare up. "Captain, I didn't know you cared!" At that, Captain Rabb fell back and put his arm back around the chair where the colonel was sitting. She was smirking, as if she found all of this very funny. He saw them exchange still another glance and Captain Rabb shrugged his shoulders. "Don't say you haven't been warned!"

The colonel leaned back into Captain Rabb's shoulder and whispered into his ear. Captain Rabb's response was a reluctant, "If you want, babe." He watched the colonel disengage herself from the group of men. She tossed them all a dazzling smile. "Gentlemen, it's been fun—but the testosterone levels are getting a bit much. I'm rejoining the ladies." She grabbed her drink, which had just been replenished and walked over to the group of women at the other side of the room. In the meantime, Greg got tired of the constant intimidation this man was putting out. He remembered just in time, social and casual setting not withstanding, Captain Rabb was still a superior officer—and there were even higher ranked officers sitting there—and stalked off, angry and resentful. What the hell had he done, anyway, to earn animosity from either of the new pair? He went to the bar to order another drink and nurse his wounded male ego. He tried to pretend he didn't feel the intense curiosity of the other men's eyes following his every move.

Just then, Commander Austin walked up to join him. He continued to hunch over his drink and tried to pretend they were not there. "What's the matter? You look like you've lost your best buddy."

Greg straightened up and turned so he was facing her directly, with the bar at his side. Her sunny tone of voice inexplicitly cheered him up. "Na, it just got a little boring." He was astonished—it was the truth. He saw the skepticism come into Commander Austin's eyes, but she changed the subject. Greg was not sure he welcomed the change. "So, how did you like Captain Krennick?"

"The captain is a good dancer." He thought he had done a good job keeping his voice even, not betraying the flare-up of interest he experienced in Captain Krennick. He ignored Commander Austin's raised eyebrows. "I don't think she's as bad as everyone thinks."

"It's apparent she likes you, too." Innocuous enough, he supposed, but he heard the warning there, too. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"You, too?" He shifted so he could look at her more directly. "You've worked with both Captains before. What's your opinion?" Greg thought he saw a shield come down. At the same time, Commander Austin's response was also guarded.

"She used to be really driven by getting what she wanted when she wanted. That includes personal and professional life. And", Greg was startled by the hiss he heard in that otherwise-sunny voice, "she didn't care who got hurt in the process."

He tossed a questioning glance in her direction. "And, now?"

Commander Austin took a sip from her drink and let her gaze fall on Captain Krennick, who had rejoined the women. "I think she's mellowed with age." She shifted her glance to Greg and he was startled by the glint he thought he saw for just a second. "Just watch your step, lieutenant."

Greg wasn't sure he knew how to interpret that statement. In the manner of attorneys everywhere, he asked for clarification. "What are you saying, Commander?"

This time, Commander Austin's gaze fell on him. "I'll spell it out in black and white for you. There was a time when my loyalty to her was 'pro forma'—just because she was a superior officer. Since then, I've learned a few things about her—and I'm not going to 'go there'—but she's been hurt, too—badly. I don't think I would want that to happen to her—to get hurt all over again." The Commander put her drink down and sighed. "Nobody deserves that." She added quickly, "Not that she couldn't handle herself—she's proven that over and over again."

Greg was impressed with the Commander's compassion. He had sensed that from the first moment he laid eyes on her. He still knew only a little more than he did three weeks ago about the relationship between the two women. He was about to say something when he stopped. He realized that was as far as the Commander was going to go on that topic. He would have to make do with what information he had.

He looked around. It was very, very close to midnight and the crowd was breaking up, especially since Captain Rabb and the colonel were starting to make their rounds to say goodbyes. He was astonished when the Captain came to him and shook his hand.

"Lieutenant, thanks for coming." Greg stared up into those blue eyes as he shook the older man's hand.

"Captain, I wouldn't have missed it for the world." He paused. "If I didn't say it before, congratulations on your promotion and—"he fervently hoped Rabb wouldn't/couldn't see him swallow—"your marriage." He skipped a beat, then, "Good luck in your new position."

Greg saw the amused contempt in the older man's eyes. "Just be careful, lieutenant." And with that, Captain Rabb disappeared from Greg's personal radar screen.

With the Rabbs gone, the crowd was beginning to break up. He went over to the group of ladies. "I'm not sure I want to 'call it a night', yet, ladies. Anyone up for a cup of java or dessert?" He could not have been more pleased when Jen and Lt. Graves volunteered to join him. Between the three of them, they decided the best place for a very late night dessert and coffee was a pancake house just a short distance from the Tavern. He turned and headed for the door. "I'll meet you ladies there in a few," he said, heading out into the dark night.

0000 (Military Time) Midnight (Civilian Time)  
Knocker House (a local pancake house)  
Same Day/Night/Next Morning

The three of them settled into a booth by a window and placed their orders for coffee before pursuing the menu. Greg had decided he was really hungry, especially after drinking all evening, and needed something to "absorb" all that alcohol. He placed an order for the locally famous banana pancakes with apple-flavored syrup. He noticed Jen looking at his order as it was delivered. "Ugh! Captain Rabb most definitely wouldn't approve."

Greg's hand paused in the pouring of the syrup and he tossed her a frown. "Why do you say that?"

The wrinkle cleared from her face and a small grin settled there instead. "He's a health-food nut and THAT", she glanced down at the syrup pool the pancakes were swimming in, "would not be considered 'healthy.'"

"Well, it's my meal, after all." He forked a bite of syrup-coated pancake. "And he's not here. So, Petty Officer", he grinned, taking the sting out of the use of his rank, "cut it out." Just then, the ladies' orders arrived and Greg glanced over to see what they had ordered. And why wasn't he surprised when Jen started buttering her whole-wheat bagel with what was presumably fat-free cream cheese? Lt. Graves was digging into a full-fledge breakfast of steak and eggs—an ungodly combination in politically-correct Washington D.C. but considered a totally wholesome breakfast from where Lt. Graves grew up—in the western U.S. In between bites, he questioned Jen. "So now that San Diego's out of question, what are you going to do now?"

"Stay here, I guess." She shifted uncomfortably.

There was a pause, then Greg turned to Lieutenant Graves. "I take it your name wasn't on anybody's list."

The blonde's cheerful expression never dimmed. She swallowed the bite she was on and looked at Greg, fork still in hand. "Nope. I had kinda hoped Captain Rabb would take me, but so far I haven't heard anything—although I'm considered 'support staff' and nobody knows for sure about them."

Greg stopped chewing and thought about that for a little bit. That's true; whatever support staff had been chosen by the newly transferred people in either Washington or Paris Island had not been notified yet. Could this be one of the loose ends Captain Rabb was back in Washington for? He winked at his colleague. "There may be hope, yet." He chewed on another bite—God! He must have really been hungry. "It was on Captain Rabb's recommendation you were assigned to me in San Diego at that conference lo those many months ago and how you came to HQ JAG in the first place." He felt like that was the one thing he could speak with authority on and he watched as her face lit up from within. He chuckled inwardly. Her enthusiasm was fetching. Greg turned to face Jen. "How come you decided to go with the colonel instead of Captain Rabb?" He was astonished at the look of pain that momentarily crossed her face.

"Captain Rabb has been like a big brother to me—it was hard to make that decision when we all thought the colonel was going to San Diego."

Greg pursued the subject. This was not part of his data-gathering mission; rather, he was really interested in what made the petty officer, one of the few he thought he had a real, if somewhat tentative—bond with in the office. "So, why did you decide to go that way?

"The last year or so, Captain Rabb has been moody and uncommunicative. I can only guess why—", he saw a thoughtful frown grace her face. "About the only person he was really talking to was Mattie."

Greg leaned forward, grasping his coffee cup in both hands. "Tell me about Mattie. Nobody has said anything about how _that_ came about." She shrugged and gave him what he could describe as a wry—and wary—glance.

"It happened after the colonel and Captain Rabb came back from Paraguay." She shook herself and then pierced him with what could only be described as a haunted look. "You do know he resigned his commission to go down after the colonel?"

Greg's hands clutched his cup so tightly his knuckles went white. At his relatively young age, he himself could not imagine give up the military lifestyle—and Captain Rabb was somewhere around twenty years older than he. What must that have cost the man? He closed his eyes in silent empathy for a couple of seconds, opened them, and asked directly: "I had heard that in passing. Why did he do that?" Greg mentally shook himself. He himself could not imagine doing such a thing under any circumstances.

Jen snorted. "Because he cared for the colonel. I hadn't been around the office as long as, say, Commander Roberts, but even I could see there was something going on there." She shrugged. "When he got back, the admiral refused to reinstate his commission. Nobody could figure out why. After all, when the colonel resigned, he took her back." Greg gulped. In the entire data gathering to date, he had not heard that. That service record must be something to read. There was still another mental note to ask about. He looked at Jen and got the feeling there was something else she wanted to say. It was Lieutenant Graves who had been hanging on every word who asked the next question.

"You think there was a double-standard, maybe?"

Jen thought about it for a second, then shook her head. "I don't think so. From my time there, I had the impression the Admiral was absolutely 'death' on that kind of stuff—no matter who or what was involved."

Greg took a sip of his coffee. "So just exactly what happened in Paraguay, anyway? All I've heard is it was ugly."

Jen shrugged her shoulders and then looked at Greg. "I don't know—except the colonel was really going off the deep end." She shivered. "There were times when she would either 'freeze' in mid-sentence, even in court or else she would really 'go off' on somebody. It got so bad, the Admiral had to call her into his officer several times." She paused. "I'm no expert, but I would guess it was post-trauma stress. Now what does that tell you?"

"That it was dangerous. That she had a near-death experience of some type."

Jen nodded. "I think the colonel had a really hard time coming to grips. She—and the Captain, for that matter—don't buy into a lot of the 'pop psychology' crap that's out there, at least as far as their individual lives are concerned." There was a tiny bit of authority to her voice and Greg remembered she was taking psychology courses after work. Her voice dropped. "I had heard she and the Captain really had some nasty quarrels after he came back to JAG."

Greg protested. "Jen, you're confusing me. You just said the Admiral wouldn't reinstate his commission and yet he ended up back. _And_ that doesn't explain where his ward comes into play."

"Oh, pardon." Greg saw her bite her lower lip and a look of concentration coming into her face. She sighed. "There was a lawyer in the office who left after it came to light she hadn't passed the bar exam. I guess the Admiral thought he had no choice—we were really short-handed and they needed an experienced, senior litigator to sort through all her files."

Greg poured himself another cup of coffee and "doctored" it to his liking—two sugars, a packet of creamer. He thought about it. This was right before he took his own bar exam—he wouldn't have heard of the vacancy. "So how long did it take before the Captain was back?"

Jen shrugged. "Three months." She grinned. "We all were stunned when we learned he had gone to work for the CIA—of all things!" Inwardly, Greg sighed. The odds were very good—no, make that a damned certainty—Captain Rabb had a nice thick—and probably highly classified file—at Langley, as well as with the Navy. What was it the retired JAG had said—the man had more lives than a cat? He snorted into his cup as he brought it up to take another sip. From what he had learned, the admiral hadn't even covered the territory with that analogy. Jen continued, "You know those TVs we have in the bullpen?" Both of her companions nodded. "Can you imagine our shock when ZNN had a clip showing one of those big C-130s landing on an aircraft carrier—think it was the Seahawk, but I don't remember for sure—and the pilot turned out to be Captain Rabb!" Greg sputtered, coffee from his mouth spraying all over.

He was instantly apologetic and proceeded to try to clean everything up as he exclaimed, "That's not possible! Those birds are too big for a carrier."

Jen's grin got bigger as she remembered. "Supposedly 'not possible', but Captain Rabb proved it was." She paused. "I don't think it's become standard operating procedure, though. It was—and is—a very dangerous thing to contemplate." She took a sip of her own drink. "Anyway, the scuttlebutt was that little bit of publicity cost him his CIA job."

Lieutenant Graves was caught up in the story. Greg glanced at her as he continued moving silverware and plates on the table to clean up the mess he had inadvertently caused. It dawned on him he was doing an awful lot of this since he started his own little personal research project. His attention was caught when his colleague asked Jen her own question. "So what happened next?"

"He ended up crop-dusting in Blacksburg, Virginia. That's where his Steerman is stored." She frowned. "I don't know what's going to happen to that plane. Anyway," and Greg saw Jen pick up a fork and finger it, as she was done with her bagel. "It turns out the owner of the business was this fourteen-year-old who had everybody fooled. Trust Captain Rabb to find out the truth."

This time, it wasn't just Greg's jaw dropping and eyes popping. Greg thought about it—this must have been quite a comedown for the proud captain—reduced to flying a little crop duster plane. "Why didn't he go to work for a civilian law firm? With his conviction record, he might have even gone to work in the public sector as an assistant D.A. or even in the Public Defenders' office?"

Jen shrugged. "I don't know—except if he went into law, there was a very good chance he would eventually end up facing the colonel in court—be it civilian and/or military. With his background and experience, any civilian law firm here in D.C. would have assigned him cases dealing with the military—and I think it would have been too painful for him to see the colonel."

Greg leaned forward, elbows on the table, and thought about it. In a way, that made perfect sense, especially given the recent marriage. "But, what about Mattie? What happened after he found out she was the owner? And where were her parents?"

"Ah, now this is where I come in." Jen looked at him with what Greg considered a potent potential for mischief . "When the admiral called him back, he immediately filed for custody. It turns out her mother had been killed in a car wreck—which Mattie thought her father caused because he was drunk the night of the accident." She paused, seemingly to reconstruct the sequence of events. "Captain Rabb found out that was not true—but Tom Johnson is a chronic alcoholic and hasn't done real well with recovery. I understand," and Greg could see Jen fighting the reticence he had noted from his first days at HQ JAG, "the colonel helped him gain custody back at Christmas time a year or so ago when she went to the hearing to testify on his behalf."

Lieutenant Graves piped in, reflecting a question that was going through Greg's own mind. "So where do you come in?"

"The captain asked me to move into another apartment in his building, same floor, if I would accept a roommate. He even offered to pay her part of the rent." She shrugged, as if it were no big deal.

Once again, Greg was shocked. "A senior officer asking an enlisted person to live under the same roof! How did he avoid fraternization charges?"

"It was no big deal. I may not be a lawyer, but even I know it's up to the CO to press charges, and since I was the Admiral's yeoman, and since I was having my own roommate problems. . ." There was another shrug. "It was the perfect solution to a seemingly intractable problem." She glanced at her watch. "Oh, my gosh! I really need to be getting home. It's really, really getting late."

Greg held up his hand, palm facing out away from him, as if trying to stop traffic. "One more question, okay?"

Jen stopped her motions of grabbing her purse and looked at Greg. "Okay. One more question."

"Do you know what's going to happen to Mattie?"

Jen heaved a sigh of relief. "That's one of the reasons Captain Rabb came back so soon. Given the short time frame in the orders they were given, they had to leave Mattie at the hospital, but they've been working on getting her medical records transferred to London. I've been told Mattie told the captain to take the position—and I guess he told her he wasn't going anywhere without her. I think she's actually looking forward to the experience. Between the captain and the colonel, "and Jen actually chuckled, "I wouldn't be surprised if she eventually walked again." She turned serious. "In any case, the Captain and the colonel aren't going back by themselves. Apparently, the juvenile court speeded up the request for permanent status as guardian to the Captain, which, by the way, opens the door for adoption for him—I guess them, now—and they're actually moving Mattie this trip."

Lieutenant Graves nodded gravely. Greg could tell she was impressed. Hell, it would be hard not to be impressed. "I suppose that's one of those 'loose' ends everybody ends up in making a major move like this."

Jen only nodded and then, as she got out of the booth, waved to them. "I'll see you all on Monday!"

After Jen left, Lieutenant Graves and Greg looked at each other and decided it was time for them, as well, to go to their respective apartments. It was just as well—it had been a long night of shots and challenges. He had a lot to think about.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

A/N: I could have sworn I had seen all of the episodes, but apparently, I missed one. What was Mac talking about in the final episode when she commented about "the neighborhood doesn't look the same when your roommate tries to kill you." Anybody care to fill me in? Thanks. I really hope this last little bit answers some questions that have been raised about what happens to Mattie.


	7. Safe Harbor

Disclaimer: Don't own JAG. Wish I did, for more than one reason—there would be stories coming out of London coordinating with Washington. etc.

A/N: Thanks for the "info" on the roommate remark. I vaguely remember watching that episode—but, given when it first aired, there was a lot of personal "garbage" going on in my life, it barely made an impact. Also, regarding the time Harm spent with the CIA—I appreciate somebody noting the "error"—I couldn't remember just how long it was. I probably won't "fix" it—simply because the updating technology is still a "hassle" for me personally. I think I could justify "not fixing" the error—it is a minor one—and in real life, people's memories pull that same kind of error all the time. May incorporate the correction somewhere else in the story. Thanks in any case.

A/N: Sorry about the delay in posting. I wasn't happy with the first draft—and am still not certain this "works", either. But a week is a week is a week. . . Enjoy!

Chapter 7: Safe Harbor

0900 (Military Time) 9:00 a.m. (Civilian Time)  
Staff Call  
HQ JAG  
Falls Church, VA  
The following Monday

The cases had been distributed and the meeting, to Greg's impression, was winding down. The general stood at the head of the table and glanced down at the last remaining folder in the stack he had brought in with him. "There's just one more thing. As you know," and there was a brief pause to acknowledge the missing senior officers, "there's been a lot of changes. There's still one more change, although this one isn't quite so drastic." Greg thought he saw a small twitch to the general's mouth. "Actually, this one is one I've been thinking about for a while—just never worked out until now. It's just as well, given the timing of everything." He had everyone's attention. The rustling in the room had stopped and Greg thought he might have been able to hear a pen drop if someone had been so careless. "I'm announcing a 'mentoring program'. This is something that has been going on in the private sector for quite some time in almost any industry you would care to name. Captain Rabb suggested this would be a good time to implement the program."

Greg looked around to check out the initial responses. So far as he could surmise, there was nothing but intense curiosity. In his own mind, he was slightly exasperated. Damn the man! He might not be physically in the office, but he was still exerting his own inimitable influence on events. Not for the first time, he wondered how the old CO, Admiral Chedwiggen, had put up with it for so long.

The general continued. "Mentoring, in this case, means once a week meetings between mentor and mentee to go over cases." There was a real grimace to the general's face, but there was no forthcoming explanation. "I'm pairing a senior attorney with a younger attorney. I think this will go a long way towards improving both the quality of the work done and productivity. Pairings will be posted on the bulletin board and in your individual mailboxes. Each pair will receive a list of expectations and goals, individually tailored to address the weaknesses and reinforce the strengths of each individual involved in the pair."

It was Commander Roberts who had the first question. "Is this supposed to be a partnership—like Colonel MacKenzie and Captain Rabb had when they first started out?" He shifted uncomfortably. "Can't help it—I miss them both."

The general smiled a little and then answered the Commander's question. "Yes—and no." The general paused. "Yes, in the sense the pair should be working together on certain assigned cases. No, in the sense the senior will supervise the work of the younger in cases not assigned to the pair." He paused, looked around at the people surrounding the table. "We have young, able, capable attorneys who are producing some fine work. However, that work could be improved on with the advantage of 'experience'"—and Greg's mind flitted back to that memorable lunch he had had with the then-Commander Rabb, Colonel MacKenzie, and Commander Roberts when the colonel had caustically commented on the temporary partnership between Rabb and himself—something about the pair being a blend of both "youth and experience'. Was this what the General was talking about? "Hopefully, that experience will help cut down on the costs of appeals, lawsuits, etc." He paused. "This mentoring program will start effective today. Unless there's anything else, that will be all."

Just then, Commander Roberts spoke up. "Uh—Harriet and I would like to invite all of JAG staff to our house for a picnic two weeks from this coming Saturday." He tossed a questioning glance towards the startled general. "If that's okay with you, sir? And, of course, you're invited, too." He shifted in his chair under the general's stare. "We didn't know about this mentoring program, but you might think of it as a good 'kick-off' for it."

The general waved his hand in the air. "By all means." Then he smiled at the commander. "My wife and I will be there, for sure. Maybe I'll see if Cammie can get away, as well." Greg was looking at the commander and noticed an uneasiness. The general must have noticed the uneasiness, too; he added, "It's okay if Midshipman Roberts is there, too."

What was that all about, anyway? Greg made a mental note to follow up on that as well.

The meeting broke up and he made his way to his mailbox—as did everyone else. He discovered the pairs' listing and found his name half ways down the list, as he made his way to the break room for another cup of coffee—and he discovered he was paired with Commander Roberts himself. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this—Commander Roberts was, after all, the most senior of the officers now in JAG. Was that supposed to be indicative of something? He found himself standing next to the general who was getting his own cup of coffee. "Something bothering you, Lieutenant?"

He shook himself back to "full alert status." "No, sir. Uh—what about this pairing?" and he indicated his name next to Commander Roberts.

The general leaned against the counter and looked at Greg. Greg managed to stay "at ease". "Are you surprised?"

"Uh—yes, sir."

The general took a sip of his coffee as he continued to observe the younger man. "Would it surprise you if I told you Captain Rabb recommended that pairing?"

Greg gulped. "Uh—yes sir, it would."

The general stood straight up as he started walking towards his office. "He thought you would make an exceptional attorney—once you learn a few things. And," Greg thought he saw the general throw him a quick glance, "he also thought the mentoring would round out Commander Roberts' own experience. You know, he and the colonel 'mentored' the commander."

Greg thought about that. He had another question. He cleared his throat. "Do you know if Colonel MacKenzie had any input into the suggestion?'

The general stopped in his progress towards his office and really looked at Greg. He tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. "As a matter of fact, yes, I know." He paused. Greg refused to speak—he was afraid his voice would give him away. "The colonel thought it would be a good idea, also." The general chuckled. "She thought the commander could teach you—and I quote the Captain directly, "'respect for a superior officer and some sense of ethics.'"

Oh. The general walked into his office and left Greg standing in the middle of the traffic pattern to think about what he had been told. He was jerked from his thoughts only when Commander Austin bumped into him, spilling his coffee again. This time, the liquid did not get on his uniform, and he sighed as he apologized to the commander. At least, he thought, the Rabbs hadn't caused him another dry-cleaning bill. "I'm sorry, Commander. The general said something that startled me," he bent down to clean up the little mess on the floor. He heard the low whispering chuckle of the blonde Commander.

"Seems to be happening to you a lot, Lieutenant. You really need to learn to adjust to change a little better." And she was walking off to her office.

He walked back to his office, sipping his coffee, and thinking. He knew the meeting between Rabb and the general had been a relatively lengthy one, lasting almost two hours. He knew one of the topics of discussion had been the fate of support personnel—which was why both Commander Matonni and Lieutenant Graves were just now preparing to move to London, Commander Matonni to act as "XO" and Lieutenant Graves as one of the legal aides/investigators assigned to the London office. He didn't know—had no way of knowing, really—current JAG staff had also been the subject of discussion. He sighed as he got to his office, sat down, pulled the nearest file, opened it, and started to work.

1300 (Military Time) 1:00 p.m. (Civilian Time)  
HQ JAG  
Falls Church, VA  
Same Day

Greg stood in front of Commander Roberts's office, poised to knock when the Commander looked up and waved him in. He took a chair and sat up straight.

The Commander leaned back in his chair and studied the young man. "At ease." The Commander waved to a chair. "Sit down. Any questions, Lieutenant?" He leaned back in chair to study the younger man.

Greg shook his head as if to clear out the cobwebs. "Thank you, sir. Yes sir. Why you and me?"

"The captain and the colonel have always tried to helpful to new talent." He chuckled. "I should know. However," and the chuckle disappeared as rapidly as it had appeared. The Commander leaned forward with a frown on his face. "What did you do or say to both of them to set them both against you?"

Greg blushed. "Before I knew who she was, I 'admired' Colonel MacKenzie's figure."

Commander Roberts's face gained a look of shock. "Oh, man! You couldn't have picked a worse way to set her to be predisposed against you." He shook his head, and then tossed a grin Greg's way. "There's a lot to be admired there—God knows, I did the same thing."

"Oh?" This surprised Greg. He wanted to know the details. Commander Roberts "combed" his graying hair with both hands and looked off into space, as if remembering. "It was on a case many, many years ago—before I was married. It was on a case that took us to Florida—Miami, to be exact. I missed most of the 'action'—I was in Naples spending time with my future in-laws." He grinned. "First meeting. My father-in-law loaned me a jaguar to go back to Miami. By the time I got back to Miami and met up with the Captain and the colonel, they were just wrapping things up—as much as you can wrap things up dressed in casual 'civvies' in the Captain's case and a bikini in the colonel's case."

Greg's mind took a trip down the gutter with the thought of actually seeing the colonel in a bikini. He flushed as he saw the Commander look at him knowingly. "My guess is you probably came on too strong."

Greg protested. "She was in uniform! What's the difference?"

The commander leaned forward, as if to make a point. "The difference is, I asked for permission to speak freely before letting the colonel know she was a knockout in that bikini." Greg thought about that. The Commander continued, "Lesson number one: always show respect. Doesn't make any difference what the rank, gender, or situation is. Always let superior officers know you respect the difference between your youth and inexperience, what they have learned, and their rank, by the way," he added dryly, glancing at Greg's face.

Greg didn't know he looked like a fish with its mouth wide open, just waiting for food. He totally missed the grin that crossed the Commander's face as fast as lightening. Another question popped into Greg's mind and it was out before he could stop it. "What was the Captain's response?"

Commander Roberts waved a hand in dismissal. "He didn't say a thing. He was more astonished, I think, that I was driving a jaguar."

This surprised Greg. "I would have thought the Captain would have been upset, knowing how things turned out."

Commander Roberts leaned back in his chair and looked at the confused, younger man in front of him. "You forget a couple of things: one, the Captain and I go way back. Two. He knew I wasn't a threat to his relationship with the colonel." The Commander shifted the conversational gears quite abruptly, almost stripping them in the process. "How well did you get along with the Captain—really—on that case you were working with him on, anyway?"

Greg was startled and studied the Commander carefully before responding. Commander Roberts, he had heard via the grapevine, had thought he and the Captain had made the "Dream Team", similar to that of O.J. Simpson's so-called "Dream Team". He and the Captain had put on a show for the colonel when she had asked the same question, but he had the feeling, from watching the colonel's face, she had been hard put to keep her face straight at the notion he and the Captain were getting along quite well, thank you. Had she shared that belief with the Commander? She must have, since the Commander had dug deeper into the "facts" of the case and ended up pursuing a premeditated murder charge rather than releasing their client. He decided, in lieu of that fact, complete honesty was in order. "We butted heads." He paused. "A lot."

Commander Roberts nodded. "I'm not surprised. Colonel MacKenzie had commented behind every 'dream team' there is a nightmare. She's a good judge of character." His eyebrows knotted together in a concentrated frown. "Who came up with the new evidence, anyway?"

Greg gulped. "It was Captain Rabb's idea."

The commander nodded. "I thought as much. However, it was the colonel who encouraged me to dig a little deeper." He tossed a look towards Greg's way. "Let me guess, Captain Rabb made an observation and a suggestion and you 'forgot' to follow up."

Greg could only nod in the affirmative. The commander continued.

"Sloppy work, Lieutenant. I suppose that's one reason—although not the only reason—the general installed a mentoring program."

Greg swallowed his protest. Then he asked, eyebrows raised in curiosity, "Just exactly how long have you known the Rabbs, anyway?"

Commander Roberts grinned that funny little smile that put everybody at ease immediately. "I've known the Captain ten years, although I was stationed on the Seahawk as public relations office when he first came to JAG. And I was there when he first met the colonel—she was a major, then—in the Rose Garden at the White House. That would have been, let's see, " the Commander's face concentrated in an effort to pinpoint the exact time, "nine years ago."

Rose Garden at the White House? Nine years ago? Greg really wanted to know about this. "Have the Captain and the colonel always had high-level contacts?"

The commander shook his head. "No. This was in the beginning, when the admiral first paired them together. They were introduced at the White House when Captain Rabb was presented his first Distinguished Flying Cross in an awards ceremony." The commander paused, as if he were reflecting on that first meeting. The phone rang and the commander picked up the phone. Greg got out and nodded to the commander in dismissal. Before he continued with the conversation (apparently with his wife), the commander put his hand over the headset and said to Greg, "We'll continue talking in the morning."

The pattern had been set. As long as both were in the office, these little "learning sessions" would be held at some point in the week, and they weren't very long—but were substantial in content. Greg walked to his office, deep in thought, as he started piecing together all the things he had learned about the now-departed partners/couple. He pulled out a legal pad and started making notes—he had discovered a long time ago, as an undergrad, it helped to write things down. It was a habit that served him well during law school, and he saw no reason to discontinue that habit now.

1300 (Military Time) 1:00 p.m. (Civilian Time)  
HQ JAG  
Falls Church, VA  
The Following Friday

Greg saw the open door to Commander Roberts's office and stopped to pop his head in. "Do you have a minute, sir?"

Commander Roberts' head looked up from his computer screen, and motioned Greg into his office. "Sure. It'll be a nice break from this research."

Greg was mildly curious. "Can I ask what you're working on?"

"Sure. It's a case involving one of our Los Angeles class submarines. Seems to be some sort of weapons problem." Greg saw the frown on his face. Then Commander Roberts lifted his phone.

"Commander, I think I need your help on a case. Can you come see me?" There was a pause, and then Greg heard, "Thanks, Commander. I'll be here." He looked at Greg. "Commander Austin will be here in a few minutes. What can I help you with?"

Greg sat down and shifted in his chair, as if he didn't want to get too comfortable. "Submarines? I didn't think we did too many of those cases anymore. Aren't they a bit 'old-fashioned' with the Cold War over?"

Greg saw a frown peering out of Commander Roberts' face. "Lieutenant, the military never, ever gives up a major weapons component without a fight." He shrugged. "With the current situation, submarines can come in very hand for surveillance purposes." He didn't say anything more because Commander Austin stood at his door. "Come on in, Commander."

Greg saw that wholesome, toothy grin and heard the low, soft-spoken voice. "Commander, how long will it take for you to call me 'Meg'?"

Commander Roberts grinned and shook his head. "Probably never. I never did get comfortable with the idea of calling Captain Rabb 'Harm" and Colonel MacKenzie 'Mac.' Old habits die hard."

Commander Austin moved to the other chair in his office and sat down. "What can I do you for?"

Commander Roberts lifted a folder and handed it to her. "There seems to be a problem with the weapons systems in this submarine. I understand you've had some experience in this area."

She chuckled. "Word gets around, I guess. It's been a while, but I'll give it a 'go'." Her grin got wider. "If I can't find the problem, then I know people who can."

Greg saw Commander Roberts' eyebrows go up. "Webb?" He asked.

The female Commander shook her head. "Nope." There was a very brief pause. "And I'm not telling.'"

Greg chose that opportunity to jump into the conversation. He leaned forward in his chair and directed his gaze at the other Commander. "I take it you're familiar with submarines."

She shuddered. "Too much for my own tastes." She held up the folder Commander Roberts had given her. "Why not ask Commander Turner? He's the former 'bubblehead', after all?"

Greg saw the blush, faint though it was, cross Commander Roberts' face, as he shook his head. "This is a computer problem, from what I can tell. Commander Turner's in court all this week. And there are other reasons, too." Greg's curiosity was piqued, and he was about to ask when he got a warning look from Roberts. Instead, he turned to Commander Austin to ask her a question. "Did you ever serve on a submarine?"

Again, he saw her seemingly give herself an internal shake and saw the corners of her mouth turn down. "Yeah. Briefly—although it seemed like forever." Greg just lifted his eyebrows in a question. She continued. "I'm claustrophobic. The time Captain Rabb and I spent down under seemed like it would never end." The look on her face told Greg she was taking a trip down memory lane.

He prompted, "And?"

Again, the mental shake. She turned to look at him, and he found himself locked in a gaze with those "sunflower blue eyes"—at least, that's what he called them. "Captain Rabb found out about the claustaphobia after we were aboard. He purposefully made me angry at him to keep my mind off the fact we were 'buried' by millions of tons of water." She shook herself again. "That's the stuff of nightmares."

Commander Roberts chuckled. "I bet he was furious when he found out."

"No kidding." She looked at Commander Roberts and relaxed, just a bit. "I understand that wasn't the only time Captain Rabb was on a submarine." She chuckled. "Funny place for an aviator."

There was the famous Commander Roberts' grin. "He and the colonel had at least three assignments aboard submarines." Greg's eyebrows went up so high, Commander Roberts was prompted to comment. "Lieutenant, your eyebrows are going to join Captain Rabb's beloved F-14s in the sky if you don't lower them." He leaned back in the chair.

Commander Austin leaned back in her chair. "This makes for a nice break. And I'm intrigued. What were the assignments?"

Greg saw Commander Roberts' eyebrows come together in concentrated thought. "Let's see. I think one of the first—although I can't really remember for sure—was aboard the Watertown. In fact, there were two assignments aboard the Watertown. I remember hearing Commander Flagger couldn't sing their praises high enough or loud enough, although the second was a result of Congresswoman Latham's attempts to get the Navy to reconsider letting women serve aboard subs." He chuckled. "Opinion on that subject were all over the board." He sniffed. "_I_ thought women didn't belong on subs. The colonel's attitude, after that particular assignment, was 'anyone who wants to be crammed into a tin can for months at a time is more than welcome to go." He chuckled, looked at Greg, and grinned. "Captain Rabb, however, thought—and I don't know how serious he was about this—thought there should be all-women crews!"

Greg sat back, startled. "Huh?"

Commander Roberts shrugged. "Captain Rabb likes women—and not just for the obvious reasons. He's been accused of being chauvinistic—there is that 'hero' complex going on there, but, for the most part, he values intelligence and integrity, no matter what 'package' those things come in."

"So, what happened?"

Commander Roberts shrugged again. "Nothing. The Navy didn't change its position, despite congressional efforts to get them to do so, although relations between Russia and the U.S. improved somewhat during that period. They were strained for a couple of weeks because the Russians thought the U.S. had collided—and sank—one of their subs, but Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie helped prove it was one of the Russians' own torpedoes that did the dirty deed. I remember Captain Rabb was in some hot water for a while during that time—he was roped into the assignment because of his half-brother and his friendship with a Russian Army soldier. There was some suspicion over at the Sub service about where Captain Rabb's loyalties really laid, but those were cleared up after the whole thing came to light." He was lost in thought. "I remember their respective significant others were 'up in arms' over that assignment."

Commander Austin's comment was dry. "I bet." A pause. "You said there were at least two assignments aboard subs. Where was Commander Turner during this time, anyway?"

"I think—and I wouldn't bet my life on this—you might ask him, if you're really curious—but I think Commander Turner was stationed in 'Pearl'. Getting back to the Captain and the colonel, they were on board the Watertown, to hear them tell it"—and Commander Roberts' face reflected his memories, "the chief corpsman tried to kill them both."

Greg shivered. "Was it all that bad?"

Commander Roberts frowned. "I don't know. All I know for sure is Captain Rabb came back barely able to speak—something to do with damage done to his throat. The colonel came back looking unscathed—except for a burn on one of her arms and a bandage on one of her hands." He turned to Commander Austin.

"It sounds like the colonel and I should compare notes the next time I see her." This was Commander Austin's comment. She made a move to get up. "Commander, I'll get on this and get back to you ASAP."

"Thanks—and it's 'Bud.'" She got up and left the office, starting to peruse the folder as she made her way to her own office.

Commander Roberts turned his attention to Greg. "So, what can I do you for today, lieutenant?"

Greg frowned. He wished he had brought his notes in with him. "Sir, I've been 'studying' the legal record of Captain Rabb. He has such a tremendous legal record, I felt it worthwhile to see if there was anything I could learn." He felt helpless. "I know he's been called 'arrogant', 'self-centered', 'selfish'—and everything in between. Yet, from what I can tell, his won-loss record in the courtroom is impressive by anybody's standards—and more importantly, it looks as though justice was done, even when he lost." Greg had in mind especially the record behind the court martial of then SecNav Nelson's son. The man had disobeyed a direct order and Captain Rabb had fought valiantly on his behalf. Reading between the lines, Greg had concluded the outcome was truly in the best interest of the Navy—and Captain Rabb had done an extremely fine balancing act between meeting the 'political needs' of the Navy and working for his client. He shivered. He wasn't sure he could handle something calling for that much finesse. It wasn't the only time Rabb had done a fine balancing act between competing interests. That one stood out for a number of personal reasons.

Commander Roberts leaned over, picked up a loose pen and started 'playing' with it. "You could do worse than study that record. Understand, Captain Rabb is driven by emotion. If he senses something isn't right, then he will dig and dig and dig for the truth, no matter where it leads him, even if it's to the detriment of his client, even if his initial theories of a case are proven wrong." Commander Roberts got lost in his own thoughts for a few seconds. "I remember a case of what looked to be 'friendly fire'. It turned out the 'victim' actually committed 'suicide by friendly fire' because he was gay and couldn't face his father with the truth. I was the one who found out he was HIV-positive, but it was Captain Rabb who put the pieces together. He was so convinced it was murder, but he was quick to turn on a nickel when the evidence proved otherwise. His whole legal career is filled with cases like that." He leaned back in his chair. He could see Greg's confusion marching across his face. "You have to understand, Lieutenant, Captain Rabb's entire being is consumed with the pursuit of the truth—and he will use unconventional methods to uncover the truth in any given situation if something doesn't feel 'right'." He paused. "There was the case of the defense contractor, for example, whose cost-cutting methods proved fatal to two "Top Gun" pilots. Although he didn't like the defendant, he used his defense to go after the contractor. They ultimately paid something like a $10 million fine." He looked down at the pen he was toying with. "I got the feeling neither he nor the colonel thought that was enough," and he shrugged again, "but that's Washington for you." He glanced back up at Greg. "That was one case where he and the colonel were on opposing sides. In the end, both ended up doing the research that uncovered the truth." He put his pen down and looked back at the younger man sitting in the chair opposite him. "Do you understand?"

Greg shifted. "Sort of, sir. But where does the colonel fit into this puzzle, anyway?"

Commander Roberts chuckled. "The colonel provides the ballast for the Captain's emotions." He shook his head. "This runs contrary to the stereotype of men being 'logical' creatures and women being 'emotional-driven' people. I suppose it's because of their respective family backgrounds that made them like this."

"So what's the common denominator that they share?"

Commander Roberts' eyebrows went up. "It should be obvious. It's the search for truth and justice. I remember on one case, Captain Rabb told me the 'truth is everything'. He has demonstrated that over and over again, but it really came out in a very obvious way with his search for his father. The colonel was right behind him, step by step, never mind the Captain ended up facing an Article 32 hearing for murder and two very dangerous trips to Russia."

"Wow. That's dedication."

Commander Roberts frowned at him. "I suppose you could call it that—but, in Captain Rabb's case, it was obsession. I personally think—and you can keep this to yourself—his obsession with finding the truth about his MIA father both drew them together and kept them apart much longer than they would have been, otherwise. She demonstrated she really cared about him in a way that went much deeper than 'partner and friend'—but it also kept him from opening up sooner than he should have." He paused. "Again, this is confidential, but I heard his ward say he confessed he never really came to terms with his father's death and it cost him Big time."

Greg sat there and considered the thought. "But, sir, I lost my father, too. I'm not sure I understand why that should have kept him from opening up."

The commander leaned forward and his face got a focused look. "Lieutenant, this is something for you to really think about. You and the Captain are very similar in outlook, in attitudes. You are both considered arrogant, brilliant in your own way as the Captain is in his way, and both of you have gained a reputation as 'lady-killers', although in the Captain's case, it wasn't necessarily desired nor was it true. As I said, he really, genuinely likes women as people." He leaned back and the frown persisted. Greg got the feeling he should really pay attention to this. "I don't know you well enough to make that particular judgment in your case—time will prove or disprove that, I think—but I suspect underneath the arrogance is a real sense of insecurity. I know the Captain doesn't really like you—but I think that's a case of 'like repelling like'. However, the Captain also has an eye for talent and he would do anything he can do to advance your career—if you prove worthy of his trust. I think that's where the real questions lie, especially since the colonel isn't really sure of you, either." He paused. "I know that for a fact, because it came up in that case you and the Captain worked on together."

Greg sat there stunned. This was the first time someone had actually put in words and pinned a "cause" the clash between him and the Captain. It was something he hadn't considered, and he studied the older man across from him. He decided it was no wonder Commander Roberts was quietly gaining a reputation for being a brilliant litagator in his own right. He certainly didn't have the flair or sophistication Captain Rabb had projected. But he had discovered to his own dismay, looks could be deceiving.

Commander Roberts picked up from where he had left off. "I think that's one reason the Captain recommended to the General I be your mentor. Nobody has written you off yet—and the Captain always has the 'good of the service' always in mind—along with his client." He paused. "A very good example is the case of the aviator who was accused of murdering three Russian peacekeepers." He chuckled. "Aviators. They are something else, entirely." Greg just looked at him, waiting patiently until the commander continued. "This happened when the Captain went back to an active fighter squadron. He was in command of that same squadron, albeit for only a short time—not enough time to really make an impact—when the younger aviator went in for a kill against the given rules of engagement." He shook his head. "We should have won that case."

"So what happened?" Greg was genuinely curious. He had learned the hard way, Commander Roberts thoroughness was—well, _thorough_.

"Captain Rabb's eloquence and appeal to emotion." He looked at Greg. "You know the rules about trying a case?"

Greg searched his memory for any shortcuts he may have picked up along the way. He shook his head. The commander leaned forward, pen in both hands. His gaze was intense. "When the facts are on your side, argue the law. When the facts are against you, argue the emotion."

Oh. Only then did Greg begin to understand the Captain's reputation for being driven by emotion. You could have fooled him—from the Captain's legal record, it looked all logic and reason. But when you dug deeper, you found a whole lot of emotion, disguised as logic and reason. A twisted smile broke out on his face. The Commander leaned back in his chair. "I 'get' it."

"Okay. I think, unless you have other questions, that's enough for this session." The Commander's eyebrows were lifted in a question themselves.

Greg got up from his chair. "Thank you. That's a lot to think about. And, thank you."

The commander waved his hand and leaned over his desk as if to get back to work. "That's alright. That's what a 'mentor' is for. Will we see you at the picnic?"

Greg nodded. "Sure. Wouldn't miss it for the world."


	8. Into the Hurricane!

Disclaimer: Do not own JAG, etc., etc., etc.

A/N: As far as Brumby/Bugme is concerned, I've never swallowed the theories of physically abusive behavior on his part, especially since there's an episode (don't remember which one) in which he apologies to Mac for behavior during his courtship that could have been construed in others' perspectives as "sexual harassment." Abusive men are not nearly that sensitive. Frankly, "been there, done that"—and absolutely no fun. He was a decent man who got in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong person. That's it. He is not necessarily a "bad" guy—and, from what I have observed from watching old episodes, a competent, if conventional, attorney. I think, other than interfering with the relationship between Harm and Mac, his conventional approach to the law was one of two major "sins" from the fans' points of view.

A/N: Thanks for the patience in waiting for new postings. I think I finally got it figured out—only took me 7 chapters! Many, many thanks for the reviews, etc. Sit back and enjoy the ride—we're a long way from being finished!

A/N: Be patient! I'm not sure it's going to be this chapter or the next, but issues surrounding the colonel will be cleared up. I'm trying to build this up to some extent. Also, please be aware that rank is sometimes used, even after a person leaves the military, especially after a long period of service, as in this case. In addition, there is also the matter of not confusing readers. I'm taking advantage of that "long-service rank retention habit" of people to keep the different speakers clear and unconfusing to readers, so the use of "colonel" in this case, is both normal usage in "real" life and a literary devise. It's nice when "things come together" (thank you, vaguely, to George Peppard and the writers of "The A Team" for that little phrase, by the way.)

Chapter 8: Into the Hurricane!  
1600 Military Time (4:00 p.m. Civilian Time)  
Roberts' Residence  
Saturday Afternoon  
JAG picnic

"Rabb!" Greg swore he saw the Captain's arms stiffen, tense up, and then relax all in a matter of seconds as the new voice with the Aussie accent yelled out. He also thought he saw the Captain take a deep breath as he put his godson on the ground gently, whisper something to him—whereas A.J. ran somewhere else in pursuit of something else—and turn around to meet the speaker of the voice. Greg did likewise. He saw a medium-size man, broad shoulders, brown hair, and a very round face—and a funny, twisted grin on his face, his left hand holding an open can of beer. Greg glanced back at the Captain and saw him let loose of the deep breath he had taken. "I understand congratulations are warranted on two counts!"

"Brumby! What are you doing here?" There was an even keel to the Captain's voice, but Greg saw a glint of steel in the eyes and his face was inscrutable.

Greg saw the Australian shrug his shoulders. "I was in town on business—the Australian Navy wanted consultations on joint NATO legal procedures and, before I go to London to NATO JAG headquarters, I thought I would check in with the Pentagon to get the U.S. perspective. I didn't realize the NATO JAG himself would be here." He grinned and then looked around. "Where's Sarah? I would have thought she would have been here to welcome back the 'conquering hero' himself." Greg thought he heard a sardonic quality to the last.

Greg would swear up and down for years afterwards, he heard the Captain's teeth grind. "Mrs. Rabb is in London with our daughter. She couldn't make this trip." It was the very first time he had heard the Captain use her married name. Furthermore, it was the very first time he had heard the Captain refer to his ward as "their daughter". Did that mean legal proceedings advancing the adoption were complete? He blinked. Years afterwards, he would also swear he saw the 6'4" captain grow another inch or two and his considerable bulk fill out even more. Even more interesting was the absolutely feral smile on the Captain's face. There clearly was a story here. "Answer the question, Brumby. What are you doing here?"

Just then, Captain Krennick came over. Greg had seen her coolly surveying the situation and he could almost swear she had decided the situation had the potential to get out of hand. For himself, he was fascinated: definitely two alpha males staking claims of some type. He shivered in anticipation. "Commander Brumby is with me. He came over to JAG the other day and I invited him for my date, Captain." Her look at Captain Rabb was nothing short of a challenge and her voice was ice itself.

"Mrs. Rabb? You finally woke up, then, did you?" There was a hint of scorn in the Aussie's voice. "Took you long enough." There was another pause, then, "Do I understand she gave up her career to go with you?" There was a tad touch of bitterness in that voice.

The Captain's wolfish grin only got wider, and he placed his hands at his hips, a normally feminine move, but somehow, not effeminate the way Captain Rabb did it. "Yeah." There was a skipped beat. "What's it to you?" Greg thought he heard Captain Rabb's mental thoughts add "—loser!" He shook his head. He did not want to miss any of this "tom cat" fight he thought he could see brewing.

Brumby held up his free hand as if to stop traffic. "Power down, Rabb. I really only wanted to say 'congratulations' for your promotion." His voice took on a serious note. "I'm going to be in London for a week or so in the near future, and I really would like 'bygones' to be just that—'bygones'—although I honestly didn't know about Sarah." Again, Greg thought he heard Captain Rabb's jaw grind his teeth, although he wouldn't have bet his life on it. Captain Rabb turned to Captain Krennick.

"You didn't tell him?"

Captain Krennick's gaze never faltered. She just shrugged her shoulders in all innocence. "I don't know the colonel." Greg almost snorted into his beer. Captain Rabb's marriage to the colonel had been the main topic of JAG scuttlebutt for the entire month following the astounding news. The promotion itself—along with the transfer to London—was handled as "business"—they were military, after all, and were used to transfers and promotions. "Didn't know, my ass!" was Greg's thought.

Captain Rabb dropped his hands from his hips and Greg felt a minor flash of disappointment go through his body. A cell phone rang, and Greg saw Captain Rabb reach into his shirt pocket, pull it out, look to see who was calling, and punched the "open" button. "Hey." There was a pause, then the captain's voice become low and husky, and he walked away from the group. "You'd never guess who showed up. . ." All members of the little group that had gathered around the gathering confrontation glanced at each other. Nobody needed to be told to know absolutely, for sure, who it was at the other end of the line, not the way the Captain's voice had dropped, not from the unconventional greeting of "hey", nor from the fact he walked away from the group and a confrontation.

Just then, he became aware of Admiral Boone and Admiral Chedwiggen's presence—they had joined the small group surrounding the Captain and the newcomer. Admiral Chedwiggen was popping open the flip-top of his beer. "So, Brumby. How are things going with you?" He held out his hand and Brumby shook it. Greg didn't miss the glance both admirals had tossed the captain's way as he answered his phone and the silent agreement between the two of them whatever crisis they had seen coming was now over—or at least postponed for the moment. Greg had the impression Admiral Chedwiggen had been "standing by" on alert, fully prepared to jump in if need be, to prevent a physical altercation—until the timely phone call interrupted. He also had the sense Admiral Boone was providing backup. Obviously, there was a history here. What was it?

"Never better, sir." There was what Greg would have called a "pregnant pause". Then the newcomer added, "My own promotion comes through in another six months or so."

Just then, the captain walked back to the group, still listening in on his cell phone. He noticed a complete change in the captain's attitude—one of relaxed security. Greg had the impression nothing could phase the man, not even the arrival of an unexpected—and apparently, unwelcome from some parties' points of view, guest. He hung up the phone and closed it back up, placing it back in his shirt pocket. He glanced at the newcomer and held his stance. His voice held the same even keel it had before, except with an additional element: there was both a question and a challenge: "So, are you married?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Greg saw Admiral Chedwiggen's eyes roll, as if in exasperation. Other than that, both admirals stood by, along with Captain Krennick, watching the scene as it played out. The newcomer surprised everybody. His face broke out in a sideways grin that covered the entire lower half of his face. "Oh, I got lucky, too. Rabb. Met someone once I got back to Australia. In fact," and he reached to his back pocket to pull out his wallet, "we've been married for some time. I have pictures." He opened his wallet, and Greg immediately felt everyone in the small group, including Captain Rabb, relax—although he thought he perceived a flash of both sadness and resentment march across the captain's face for a couple of seconds. He wasn't sure, though, as the captain relaxed even further and even displayed a degree of openness that surprised Greg, as tense as the initial few seconds of the meeting between the two men was. Captain Krennick edged closer to the admirals and Greg trailed along side her. He noticed Captain Rabb started looking around for A.J. Roberts just as the little sprint crashed into his legs.

"Uncle Harm, couldn't find the lizard. Can we play 'airplane' again?" The adults continued to walk away as the Captain began to indulge the little one in his favorite game—Greg heard the Captain tell him, "A couple more times, A.J. Your 'uncle' is getting too old for much more of this. But, first, why don't you go find your daddy? I need to tell him something. Okay?" The youngster stopped clamoring and immediately went to find his father, yelling over his shoulder, "Kay!"

Captain Krennick caught Greg's attention. She was standing extremely close to Admiral Chedwiggen and he heard her hiss into his ear, "What was that all about?"

Greg saw the admirals exchange glances and then Chedwiggen almost giggled. "Rivals." There was a skipped beat, then, "In more ways than one."

"Oh."

Admiral Boone continued by way of further explanation. "Harm dunked an F-14 into the ocean for her the night before the colonel and Commander Brumby were supposed to be married." He grinned. "It wasn't too funny then—they had a hell of a time finding him, but now. . ."

Greg saw Admiral Chedwiggen snort. "It goes beyond competition over a woman, Tom." Admiral Boone's eyebrows rose, and the former JAG continued, "Commanders Rabb and Brumby could never get along, even when working on the same side of the fence on a case." He chuckled. "I can't tell you how many times Mac had to step in to mediate." He turned to the now-furiously blushing Captain. Greg had a hard time with that. In his brief experience with the Captain, he had found a tough, exterior shell that would permit no expression of any emotion whatsoever. Now, it seemed as though the Captain was blushing over every other word the admiral was saying. "Mac told me about a pre-trial conference they had one time defending an aviator over action that took place over Kosovo. It was frustrating for the prosecution—no matter what Mac and Bud proposed, there was opposing opinions coming from the other side. Mac said if the subject weren't so grim, it would have been funny. There was one time when it _was_ funny—although I don't think either man really appreciates it, to this day." His chuckle grew into an outright laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, Greg saw Commander Roberts approach the group. He watched as the commander's face opened up in glad surprise.

"Commander Brumby! What a surprise to see you!" Greg watched as the commander turned to shake Roberts' hand.

"It's good to see you too, again, Bud. Lieutenant Commander! Congratulations!"

Greg saw a blush going over Commander Roberts' face. "Thank you." He saw the look of gratitude the commander shot Admiral Chedwiggen. "It was all due to the admiral, here."

"Ah, Bud. You would have gotten the promotion regardless of what the Admiral did."

All of a sudden, there was an uncomfortable silence among what Greg classified in his mind as "the old group"—including Captain Rabb. He saw the captain's lips grow thin (in distaste, maybe?) and was surprised to see an answering blush in the admiral's face. It was Bud who put everyone at ease. "Maybe so, but Admiral Chedwiggen made sure it happened in spite of my missing leg."

Greg saw the look of shock come onto Commander Brumby's face. "Missing leg, Bud? Why? When did that happen?" Greg silently noticed the arrival of the general to the group, beer in hand.

It was Admiral Chedwiggen who answered. He sighed. "That was a week in which two of my officers decided to play 'hero', in their own inimitable ways!" He tossed a mock glare in the direction of both Commander Roberts and Captain Rabb, and Greg saw both men wince. "You know them both, Brumby. Roberts stepped on a land mind thinking he was protecting a child and Rabb—well, Rabb's stunt is right up there with the downright spectacular. He let a dirty nuke chase his F-14 until it ran out of fuel." He turned to the Australian. "Most of both episodes are classified, as I'm sure you're aware. However, the Navy's grapevine had a lot of material to work with that week." He raised his hand with his beer up, in salute, to the two men who had been under his command. He turned to the general. "I never thought, when I took command of JAG, I would have to consider the possibly of writing the same kinds of letters home to families that I did as a SEAL commander. Be glad this new restructuring takes that kind of strain out of the office."

Greg couldn't help himself. He burst out, "You were going to tell a funny story about the competition between these two." Chedwiggen's response was to laugh uproariously, much to the discomfort of Rabb. "Bud, you remember when little A.J. was born?" Greg saw looks of guilt and embarrassment exchanged between the Captain and the Australian. As for Bud, there was only a look of wonder and awe, as he looked like he was going down memory lane.

Greg saw the Admiral glance at him. "I walked into my office to discover Lieutenant Simms laying on my office floor in hard labor. Nobody knew where Bud was. Harriet was hanging onto Harm's hand for dear life and panting like a mad dog." He cast an amused glance at Captain Rabb. "Mac told me later she tried to convince Harm into delivering a baby, since he had done it once before—under less than ideal conditions." Greg saw the general's hand, on its way up to deliver a swig of beer to his mouth, pause. There was an expectant look on his face. "Brumby here stepped into the fire, so to speak, when he volunteered to delivery the baby, if necessary. Despite the urgency, these two managed to get into something of a 'pissin' contest' then and there." He shrugged his shoulders. "I ended up delivering little A.J." He sipped his beer and Greg saw the general sputter.

"Really, Admiral." Then Greg saw a twinkle of mischief come into the general's eyes and noted the general's mouth was twitching. "Frankly, sir, I think that's becoming a 'might' too 'up front and personal', don't you think?"

Greg was on high alert. Still another "alpha-male" confrontation, this time between two two-stars—albeit, Chedwiggen was retired. Chedwiggen just stared at the general blandly. "I did what was necessary at the time, General. Nobody thought her baby would come at that time—she was due in another week, or so—and," Chedwiggen gave as good as he got, Greg thought, "this was a first baby, after all."

Captain Rabb chuckled, joining the conversation for the first time. "Yeah. Harriet's always been an 'overachiever'—she outdid herself that time!" He sipped his beer.

"You wanted to see me, sir," Bud's voice brought them all back into the present day.

Rabb waved his beer can at Brumby. "Only to tell you he was here." The Captain straightened up and looked at Brumby, and turned sober. "Look, Brumby, I've never cared for you, period. I don't understand what Bud and Harriet sees in you, nor have I ever understood Mac's attraction to you. But Mac is in your past, and I know you're friends with the Roberts. I just figured it was a 'nice' thing to let him know you were here." He paused. "It looks like we're going to be 'working' together, at least to some extent in the near future. So shall we be 'professional' about it, okay?"

"Fine by me, mate."

The small group started breaking up.

The two admirals drifted towards the ice cooler for more beer, and Captain Krennick "drifted" with them. Greg made a point of trailing along behind the three. In the meantime, he took another, more thorough look at the Aussie. So this was "the other man"—or could it be said Rabb was "the other man"? Which was it? It was Captain Krennick who saved him the necessity of asking his question. "Uh, Admiral Chedwiggen, about Rabb and MacKenzie—sounds like a case for fraternization, sir?" Did Greg detect a tiny touch of jealousy in Captain Krennick's voice? He decided he needed to "check it out" later.

Admiral Chedwiggen stood up straight and stared at his former aid. "Alyson, there wasn't anything physical going on between Commander Rabb and Colonel Mackenzie. What could I do? They lived up to the letter of the law, if not the spirit." He got a thoughtful look on his face. "Sarah Mackenzie has an allure that is damned near impossible to ignore, if you're male, that is. She got under Harm's radar early—except neither one of them recognized it for what it was until recently. It took an Act of Congress, literally, to pry their mutual lack of understanding open." Greg knew he was referring to the new restructuring of JAG that was now taking place. All of that takes money, and Congress funded it.

Captain Krennick snorted, taking a sip from her own beer. "I don't know the colonel, but I am familiar with Rabb. His damned 'boy scout' sense of 'honor' and 'duty'. . ." Greg decided he wanted to ask Captain Krennick about that remark, in private and away from the crowd.

Admiral Boone chuckled. "That about sums it up. But he wasn't the only one. She possesses that in equally full measure—part of that allure, I think." He guzzled his beer. "A lot of people got hurt along the way."

Admiral Chedwiggen looked at his beer can. "Tom, I need another beer. How 'bout you?" Greg saw Admiral Boone shake his own can and nodded. "Let's go find some more." The two admirals moved off, topic of conversation had moved onto other naval subjects of male-oriented gossip, leaving Captain Krennick and Greg standing alone.

Greg became aware of Captain Krennick's gaze on him. "Well, how 'bout you, Lieutenant? Need another drink." Greg lifted his own nearly-full can of beer.

"I'm fine, Captain. If you need another one. . ."

She shook her head. "Let's go find some shade. I'd like to continue a discussion we had a while back about you." Greg swore he saw a faint change in her face—a change that went from "curiosity" to that of faint "seductiveness'. He shivered, partly out of fear and partly out of anticipation. He followed her to a tree in the back of the yard that had a "ring bench" going around it. He waited for her to sit down, and then sat down beside her. He looked at her.

"You've known Captain Rabb a long time, haven't you?"

She leaned forward, putting her forearms on her thighs and tilted her head forward, keeping her eyes on the Captain as he reached to pick up little A.J. for another one of those "airplane" games the youngster liked so much. "Ten years." She paused. "I was chief of staff then. MacKenzie, Simms, Roberts, Turner—none of them were here when I was. Only Rabb—and Austin, of course."

"Well, what's Rabb to you?" He leaned back, put both hands up, palms out as if to block something coming his way, and smiled his most charming smile, as she turned her head and looked at him sharply. "I got the impression there was a history, there, that's all."

She turned her head back to stare at the Captain. "I thought he was a threat to my career." She glanced at Greg again, the corners of her mouth turning downward, and continued. "He was JAG's 'golden boy' at the time." Greg had to lean forward to hear the next words. "Damn! He's still a handsome man, after all this time."

Greg was fascinated. "So what did you do?"

She sat up and tossed her head in a very casual manner. "I propositioned him." There was a grim smile on her face. "Time after time."

Greg gasped. "Weren't you worried about fraternization charges?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "No. It was an effort to compromise him, in more ways than one." Greg thought about that. If they had had an affair—and kept it out of the office, in all likelihood, nothing would have been said or done. However, if said affair threatened the workings of the office, then charges would have been brought—against her, as the senior officer involved, and a note would have been made in his service jacket. He was beginning to understand the references to "honor", "boy scout code", etc. His curiosity got the better of him.

"Wouldn't those possible charges—," he purposefully inserted the word "possible"—"have damaged your career more than his?"

She shrugged. "Possibly. But keep in mind, I was the senior officer—and who's word do you think they've would have taken, given there would have been no proof?"

He pursued the subject. "But everybody knows about Col. MacKenzie's 'indiscretion'—and apparently, it didn't hurt her career any."

She looked at him. "I don't know the colonel, except by sight and only then once, but—apparently she kept her record clean after that. That became public knowledge only because of the court martial." She didn't have to add the entire Naval grapevine had worked overtime on that juicy little bit of "news". " And her work, from all accounts, has apparently been outstanding." She glanced at Greg. "Don't forget, if, in the long run, the positive contributions are more than the negative distractions, then promotion boards are apt to overlook such 'indiscretions', especially if the said 'indiscretions' are well into the past and it's apparent the 'perpetrator' has learned their lesson." She sat up and, this time, looked directly into Greg's eyes. "Besides, look where she's at—married without a career." She leaned forward. "The key to all of this is 'discretion'. If you're going to have an affair inside the office, then by all means, be discrete. Most COs don't want the hassle of even an Article 32 hearing over stuff like this—too embarrassing for everybody, too much paperwork, AND most COs don't really care about what happens in private lives."

Greg leaned back against the tree and thought about that. It was true, he decided upon reflection—as long as there was no office "scuttlebutt", affairs didn't often come to light. Reflecting upon his own experience at handling such cases, he was annoyed with himself that he hadn't made that conclusion himself. Nodding in the direction of the Captain, he asked her, "Do you know why he's back in town? It's only been a month or so."

She shook her head. "I had heard he had a couple of appointments up on the Hill. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was lobbying for some kind of appointment for the colonel."

He stared at her. "Even though she's not in the service anymore." That earned him an annoyed glance from her.

"She's got skills and experience that would be a shame to let go to waste. I would be she stands a very good chance at getting something." She leaned up, stretched her arms full length as if to emphasize a very-well endowed chest, and turned to him. He gulped as he thought he saw the beginning of desire flare up in those steel-blue eyes. "So, what about you? Where do you see yourself going in five, ten years?"

"Eventually, all the way to the JAG himself," was his blunt answer.

"Any idea of how you're going to get there?" She was amused.

"Work hard. Keep my nose clean." He shrugged. "What else is there to know?"

She snorted. "There's a lot more to it than that, I can tell you." She paused, glanced at Captain Rabb again. "There was once upon a time when I thought I would get there myself—first female JAG." She shook her head. "But obviously, he's still as big a threat as he ever was to anyone who wants it while he's around." Greg heard the bitterness and the loneliness in her voice. A sense of compassion led him to drape an arm around her.

"Well, he's not there yet."

She leaned back into his draped arm and glanced at him. "You think there's still a chance for me?" He nodded. Abruptly, she got up. "Let's go talk about this somewhere else—in private."

They both got up from the ring seat and separately made their goodbyes to the Roberts. He was so intent on following her, he missed the four or five sets of eyes that followed them out the door. Among those eyes were those of Captain Rabb, Admiral Chedwiggen, General Cresswell, and Commander Roberts. At that time, Commander Roberts was standing by Captain Rabb. Greg would have been interested in hearing Commander Roberts' voice mutter to Captain Rabb, "I warned him."

Greg would have been astonished by Captain Rabb's response, as he took a sip of his near-empty beer can. "So did I, Bud. I think you'll be dealing with that sooner or later."

TO BE CONTINUED, obviously. . .


	9. Snowflakes in JuneTornadoes in October

Disclaimers: don't own JAG—just borrowing characters, rather freely, I admit—especially from the past. Having a lot of fun doing it, too. Thanks, DSB. Also, new characters are introduced—which I do own. (They can be borrowed by anyone who likes them, though.)

A/N: Sorry about the mix up in the latest posting. One of these days, I'll get it "right". And my apologies for not posting sooner. This chapter took extra work AND houseguests take additional time (Memorial Day weekend/week).

A/N: Title of this chapter. For whatever reason, I've been "taken" with weather analogies. It is possible, although rare, for it to snow on the high plains in May, or even June. It is equally rare for tornadoes, even in the so-called "Tornado Alley", to strike in October—but, again, it does happen. More explanation will give the whole thing away.

Chapter 9—"Snowflakes in June/Tornados in October"

1200 Military Time (Noon Civilian Time)  
HQ JAG Cafeteria  
Falls Church, VA  
The Monday after the party at the Roberts

Greg stood at the end of the cafeteria line, holding his tray, and looking around for a place to sit in the crowded cafeteria when he spotted the newcomers. He tried not to let his eyes pop out of place too much—the young officers were eye-catchers. He moved over to their table—they were talking up a storm and stood in front of them. They paused in their conversation and looked up at him. "Mind if I sit down?" They shook their heads and moved their personal items to make room for him. He sat down, shook out his napkin. "Name is Greg Vucovik. 'Vic' for short."

The female turned her head towards him and tilted it sideways in greeting. "Lieutenant Rebecca Fielding—but you can call me 'Bec'." She caught his eyes and he sucked in his breath. He felt like he could get lost forever in those sky-blue eyes. She waved a hand at her companion. "This is Lieutenant Christopher Shane". He turned his head and found himself staring into another pair of sky-blue eyes.

"So how long have you been at JAG?" He took a bit of the tuna casserole and made a face. How could the cafeteria spoil something so innocuous as tuna casserole? He wondered.

The almost-white blonde-haired female replied. "We got here over the weekend. We just met Captain Krennick and Commander Austin." She shrugged her shoulders. "I guess they're our mentors or something. The rest of the morning has been spent in paperwork and orientation." The young man facing her chuckled.

"Paperwork. We kill trees." They both snickered. Greg grinned.

"Where are you from, anyway?" He asked both—there was something of a twang and/or drawl in that accent of both that was hard to place. Rebecca grimaced.

"Kansas."

"The land of Oz."

"Chris, that joke is as old as the hills!" Rebecca tossed her wadded up napkin at Chris and he ducked.

"Well, it's true." He protested.

The younger lady sniffed. "I prefer 'drive-through' country." Greg was intrigued.

"Really? I've never heard the term."

The lady leaned over in his direction. "That's what they call country most people either fly over and/or drive through as quickly as possible to get to another destination."

Greg thoughtfully nodded. "That makes sense. Kansas. Who goes to Kansas?"

Both of his lunch companions nodded. "It's mostly 'who's from Kansas' that's relevant these days." The young man chewed thoughtfully on his sandwich.

"So, where in Kansas?" Greg was being conversational. He saw the grimace again appear on the lady's face.

"Kansas/Colorado border—a no-where town called Kanarado."

"Both of you?" Both of the blondes nodded. "Don't most people from that area go into the army or air force?"

A cheerful grin lit the face of the woman. "Yep. That's why we chose the Navy."

Greg chuckled. "Let me guess—you're a bit of a non-conformist." Chris chuckled.

"There's a bit more than that, actually. Both of us wanted to get as far away from the 'high, dry, and dusty great plains' as we could get." He shrugged his shoulders. "If we went into the Army or Air Force, there was always the chance we'd get stationed somewhere out there—like Ft. Riley, Kansas, or Fort Carson in Colorado Springs—and that's not that far away from home." He grinned, a lop-sided grin. "What are the odds of being stationed inland when you're in the Navy?"

Greg chewed on a bite of fruit cocktail—at least the cafeteria couldn't ruin canned fruit, yet. He nodded thoughtfully. "There is that—I don't think I've ever heard of a naval station on the high plains." He looked at both parties. "Are you related? You look so much alike. . ."

Chris grinned. "Cousins. Although, we did grow up together—we might have been siblings."

Greg saw the shiver go down the lady's backbone. "Yeah. You'd be surprised at how 'close' families are out there. Everybody knows everybody else—and/or related in some way to everybody—and their secrets. It was stifling."

"So—let me guess. You went into the service as a result of 9/11."

Chris sobered up. "Yeah, on my birthday, as a matter of fact. Just graduated from the University of Colorado law school three months before 9/11 and was trying to decide what area of law I wanted to go into when that happened. After that, there was no question as to serving—but it was a matter of which service." He shrugged again. "If you want to get away from home, there's nothing like the Navy."

"How 'bout you?" Greg turned to study the lady sitting next to him. She wasn't exactly "beautiful" in the classic sense—her jaw line was too strong, but she was striking. Her white-blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, but he could imagine what it would have looked like loose from the confines of the bun. She had long, narrow fingers and, he looked closer—freckles (!) marching across her face! They were faint, covered with lightly done makeup, but they were there. Suddenly, he was reminded of Commander Austin—except Commander Austin had more color to her. A quick check of Chris's face confirmed the presence of freckles marching across a long Roman nose, as well.

"I went to the University of Kansas Law School—but basically the same story." She cast a coy glance towards Greg—and he found himself captivated by the crystal-clear blue eyes. "Mom didn't care for my decision—but she didn't put her foot down, either." She shrugged. Chris brought them both back to reality. He glanced at his watch.

"Hey, Bec. If we're going to meet with our respective mentors, then we need to get going. I don't know if I even remember where their offices are."

Greg broke away from the gaze her ice-blue eyes had captured him in and felt an impulse to be helpful. "Who's assigned to whom?" He shrugged as he noticed Chris's sharp gaze. "I though I could tell you where their offices are. Just trying to be friendly, that's all."

"I'm assigned to Captain Krennick; she's assigned to Commander Austin."

He directed them to the appropriate offices as they got up and put their trays on the conveyor belt that would take the trays to the cafeteria kitchen. He couldn't help wondering just what Commander Roberts would make of these two newcomers with their striking, almost-albino-like looks.

He was in Commander Roberts' office going over a minor DOD case with him, trying to negotiate a plea bargain when he saw the two go by the open office door. Commander Roberts glanced at them and then came out with an expression that stuck. "Wow! Would you look at that? They almost look like snowflakes!" Within the JAG kingdom, the two from hereon out would be known as "the snowflake twins".

An hour later, the crowd gathered around the bulletin board attracted Greg's attention. He waded through the small crowd as tactfully but purposefully as he could to see what everyone was looking at. He stopped in front of a "news" clipping someone had taken from the Washington _Post_. He sucked in his breath as the impact of the news clipping hit him.

It contained a picture of the colonel—it must have been a formal portrait, maybe taken just for this occasion, because she was not wearing her uniform. Instead, the "heads and shoulders" picture showed only what looked to be like a beige linen-like jacket and what Greg assumed was a white silk blouse—complete with a feminine version of a tie. She was still wearing her hair in the military-style bun, but her eyes were the same as Greg remembered—luminous and glowing, as was the small, perky mouth that looked like it would promise mischief at any given moment..

The picture first caught one's attention—and then the headline/announcement. "Liaison between NATO and Congress appointed." Greg found himself riveted by the story.

"Sara C. McKenzie, formerly a judge advocate at Headquarters JAG, Washington, has been appointed by the President to fill a newly-created position as liaison between the NATO forces in Europe and the Congress. This new position will act as coordinator between Congress, specifically the House and Senate Armed Forces committees, the White House, and the military forces of NATO in Europe, especially in the requisitioning and disbursing of requested funding. This new position will be based in Belgium, at NATO Headquarters. Ms. MacKenzie, according to Congresswoman Bobbi Latham (D-Mi) and Senator DeLong (D-CA), is an excellent choice for this new position, because of the experience she gained while at JAG, Washington. She's had extensive experience in administration, having served as the JAG's Chief of Staff for a number of years, as well as field experience as both investigator and soldier. She is currently married to the Force Judge Advocate-Europe Captain Harmon Rabb Jr."

"Wow!" That was one of the newcomers, Bec, specifically. "What an opportunity!"

Greg lifted his eyebrows. "Why do you say that?" Bec gave him a reproachful glance. "Just think—interfacing with the Congress AND the White House, for starters." Greg was startled. The gleam in her eyes told him—something, but what?

"You like the idea of dealing with politicians?" There was some disbelief in his voice. The common viewpoint of politicians within the military was rather dour, matching the distain for politicians among the general public.

"Vic, think, would you!" There was an impatient jerk on her part. "I know a lot of people don't like politicians—think they're slippery as eels. Part of the reason for that misperception comes from the ethical tightrope politicians often find themselves in—in a critical vote, what do they do? Vote for how they think the majority of their constitutients think even if it goes against what they, personally, believe—or go with their own personal convictions and hope their voters, disagreeing with their positions, still respect their own stance and will reelect them?" Bec's eyebrows rose. "Most people don't realize Abraham Lincoln was the slickest politician of all of our presidents, with the possible exception of Franklin Roosevelt." She snorted. "'Honest Abe'? Are you kidding? He kept a promise only for as long as it would achieve his goals."

Greg's eyebrows knitted in thought. This was an aspect of history he hadn't heard. "And you know this how?"

"I was a history major in my undergraduate studies before going onto law school." With that, she walked away, leaving Greg lost in thought. He turned and inadvertently "walked" into her cousin, Chris. He experienced a flash of resentment at the much taller man. He must be as tall as Captain Rabb, he thought resentfully, as he backed off and offered apologies.

"Don't mind her," Chris shrugged, accepting Greg's apology in the spirit in which it was given. "History and politics are her passions." He warned his colleague. "If you ever have a chance to play Trivial Pursuit, choose her as a partner. She wins in categories history, literature, and philosophy. Very weak in math and science." There was that sunny grin again, the one that cheered everyone in the office, regardless of rank, with it's warmth and humor. He nodded towards the newspaper clipping. "A position like that is something I think Bec could really get wrapped around."

Greg snorted. "I have reason to believe that position was created just specifically for the colonel."

Chris's eyebrows rose in a question mark. "The colonel? 'Created position'?"

"Col—excuse me, Ms. MacKenzie used to work here—except she was a full 'bird' in the Marines Corps."

Chris turned back and leaned down to study the picture. "Wow! You'd never guess, would you?"

"She is a beautiful woman," Greg almost whispered. "Captain Rabb doesn't know how lucky he really is." He frowned and was thinking out loud. "I'm guessing that's part of the meetings that the Captain and the General were involved in a month or so ago."

Chris whistled. "That implied a lot of political clout coming from somewhere."

"Yeah. My impression is the colonel and the Captain have a lot of political muscle they can pull when need be." Greg felt an impulse. "Say, do you and/or Bec have anything going on this weekend?"

"No, why?"

"Want to do something, besides the usual 'housework' type of thing?" He shrugged. "I don't know if you've ever been to Washington before, but there are a lot of things to see and do."

Chris's eyebrows frowned in thought. "I don't know. I guess I'm free." He grinned that toothy grin, again reminding Greg of Captain Rabb's "flyboy" grin. "Better talk to Bec, though. She's the one who's really into a lot of this stuff."

"Okay. Will do." There was a pause. "Where are your offices/desks?"

Chris nodded. "We're both in the bullpen; however, I expect to be spending a lot of time with our mentors for the first week or so, just getting our hands on the ropes."

Greg nodded. He walked to his office, sat down, and made a note to talk to Bec before the day was over.

0900 Military Time (9:00 a.m. Civilian Time)  
HQ JAG  
Falls Church, VA  
Four months later

After some months, Greg was starting to feel "settled" in his job and in his social life. "About time", he muttered to himself as he pulled his door shut behind him, tossing his cover on the credenza. His "Friday nights" had settled into an informal "get-together" with Captain Krennick for a couple of drinks after work, and his Saturdays were devoted to acquainting the "snowflake twins" with Washington D.C. He wasn't the only one who was feeling "settled" either—after the massive changes within, morale had sunk to a real low, with people of all types grumbling about every little thing. Now, however, people were starting to act a little happier—the greetings every morning had a "happy" chirp that had been missing for a while, and the office scuttlebutt had settled down to the normal "gossip". Therefore, it came as a complete shock when Bec stormed into his office, "spitting nails". She was very close to tears.

"Whoa!" Greg leaned back and put his hands in the air, as if to block whatever was coming his way. "What's going on?—and Good morning, to you, too, by the way."

She was pacing up and down the small space in front of his desk—hard to do since there wasn't much space to begin with. She tossed him a fierce glare.

"I just talked to Chris—or rather, tried to. He wouldn't even say 'hi'!" She threw her hands up in frustration, then abruptly stopped pacing. "Something happened—something over the weekend! He's not normally like this."

Greg leaned forward on his desk, absently picked up a pencil, and started fiddling with it. He kept his voice non-committal and even, steady. "Tell me about it."

She flopped down in her chair. "Actually, this has been coming on." She gave him what he would have called an "arched look." "He's slowly changed, becoming more withdrawn and non-communicative over the last couple of months—ever since coming to Washington!" She bit her lip, trying hard not to let the tears come. "He's never been like this before—ever." She looked at Greg, caught his eyes and held them. "Even when we were separated, like at school, he would email almost every day, we'd talk on the phone at least once a month—he would tell me about his girlfriends, about his schoolwork, about EVERYTHING! Now, he won't tell me a thing!" She wailed.

Greg asked, "How 'bout at home?" He was among the few to know they were sharing a two-bedroom apartment to cut down on expenses. Since they were "family"—albeit cousins, there was no question of impropriety or fraternization—especially since they were the same rank.

"Like I say, he's changed. He will come home and go to his room and shut the door. Or he's gone out and stays out for hours and then come home. He's just not talking."

Greg bit his lip. "Is it possible he's trying to separate himself from you emotionally?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. We were so excited when we found out we were both coming to JAG. We had such grand plans to visit all the 'tourist traps', the restraints—we were going to see and do everything there was to do here." Her head went down and Greg couldn't see her face. "That's all changed—and he won't talk to me about it!"

Greg leaned back in his chair, absently tapping the pencil against his teeth. He thought about it. During the previous two months, both of the "snowflake twins" had gone with him to the various sites he had taken them, starting with the Smithsonian Institution. Within two weeks of that, though, Bec had been the only one who had taken Greg's invitation to "play tourist guide" seriously enough. He remembered thinking at the time that was sort of unusual—but, in typical male fashion, had thought Chris absenting himself from their excursions was a way to encourage some sort of romance—a "third wheel", so to speak, being out of place. Greg had talked to Bec about the developing situation after the third "bow-out", and Bec had brushed Chris's absence off. "He'll come around." She had been so confident.

As far as Greg was concerned, the more he learned of Bec and her personality, the more he was convinced she would make a very good friend—but that was it. She was taller than he by a couple of inches which, in and of itself, put kind of a kibosh on any possible relationship between the two—silly, his rational mind scolded him, but nevertheless there. And he had remembered thinking, within two weeks of meeting Chris, Chris was the kind of man who could be everybody's friend, warm, friendly, non-judgmental—kind of a much-younger Commander Roberts—without the legendary clumsiness the older Commander Roberts no longer exhibited. Thinking more in detail, Greg discovered he missed that "campfire warmth" Chris had so willingly extended to him. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

Bec's hands were twisting a Kleenex she had brought in with her. Somewhere in Greg's mind, there was a little note of observation—that Kleenex wasn't going to survive much longer. He was startled at the tears in her eyes. "Yeah. Would you?" There was the beginning of a whine in her voice as she added, "Please?"

He nodded. "Sure." He glanced at her. "Do you think now is a good time?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Might as well try now. I'm certainly not getting through. He's holed up in Conference Room B in the law library." She warned him. "The door is locked and I can't get a response except for 'leave me alone'".

Greg frowned. This was indeed serious. If Chris wouldn't respond to a superior office, he could be in serious trouble at the start of his naval career. He got up and escorted Bec out of his office. "I'll go have a chat with him."

She brushed her hand with the now-tattered Kleenex against one eye, as if to prevent any more tears and nodded, as she made her way to her own desk in the bullpen. "Okay. Let me know what you find out, okay?"

He nodded as he started to make his way towards the Law library.

0930 Military Time (9:00 a.m. Civilian Time)

HQ JAG

Falls Church, VA

Two months later

Greg knocked at the door of the closed law library conference room. "Chris?" He paused, waiting for a response. "Are you in there?"

Much to his surprise, after 30 seconds, the door cracked open and Greg saw two blue eyes looking down at him. "Yeah. What do you want?" Greg was astonished at the roughness of the voice, almost as if the younger man had been crying and was struggling to regain his composure.

"Can I come in?"

There was another pause and then the door opened to admit Greg. Once Greg stepped through the door, it was closed, and Greg noted the quickness with which the door closed. He surveyed the taller and younger man and was shocked at what he saw. The military posture and dress code was still present—but barely. Chris's shoulders slumped, making the taller man look a couple of inches smaller. The hair was short, as required by military regs—but spikey, as in "rocker" style—but looked careless, not designed, as if it had been combed by fingers instead of a comb/brush. There were dark circles under those eyes, standing out in dark contrast to the pale complexion. The comparison was so stark, the freckles marching across that Roman nose was unnoticed. What shocked Greg was the way Chris's hands—both of them—were placed on the doorknob and was shaking violently. Chris walked away from the door and went to slouch in a chair parked in front of the table in the conference room. Greg went to sit down beside him, pulled out a companion chair, and sat to look at Chris.

"Bec tells me you're in trouble—but she doesn't' know why. Do you want to tell me?" Greg's voice oozed the compassion he felt towards his younger colleague.

Chris's hands were on the table and they were twisting themselves around each other, as if they had a life of their own and he, Chris, had no control over them. Greg thought Chris acted as though his life was spinning completely out of control and he had no idea of how to stop the spiraling.

With the typical abruptness Greg had learned to associate with the Midwesterners, Chris was blunt. "I'm being sexually harassed by—"and he stopped mid-sentence. Greg saw his eyes darting around the small room as if in panic. "A senior officer—and I don't know what to do to make it stop."

Greg stopped breathing in shock. Usually, sexual harassment charges were leveled against male officers by female officers—and since the Tailhook scandal of a few years ago, there had been very little of that kind of behavior coming to light. The Navy—and other military services—he vaguely remembered the Air Force Academy scandal that came out within the last couple of years—was in a period of transition from the "old" style and coming into a new management style, more in keeping with civilian practices and mores, but hadn't, apparently caught up with the general population yet. The Marine Corps actually was much better than the other services at that sort of thing—did the colonel have an instinct about that when she first signed up those many years ago? Greg shook his head. He had to keep his head clear for his friend—couldn't allow himself those kinds of thoughts if he were to help Chris.

"Is there any possibility you might be misinterpreting what's happening?"

Chris's eyes teared up again and he tossed a somewhat angry glance towards Greg. "Blame the victim, is that what that's about?"

Talk about defensive! From what little Greg knew about the effects of sexual harassment, that defensiveness fit the behavioral symptoms of someone undergoing that kind of workplace/home torture. Chris shook himself, got up from his chair, and started pacing up and down the small room. "I've thought about that, from every which way and angle—and perspective." Greg was reminded he was talking to an undergrad philosophy major who had gone onto law school. With the kind of understanding of perspective Chris possessed, if he said he was being sexually harassed, then there was no doubt—although Greg wondered if that kind of intuitive evidence could stand up in court. There was the promise of that warm grin that had so captivated everyone in JAG who had come into contact with the male half of the "snowflake twins"—but it was a promise that died before it could come into it's own. He shook his head. "It's sexual harassment."

Greg thought carefully before asking his next question. "Is there any way you can avoid this senior officer?"

Chris shook his head, the tears coming freely out of his eyes and marching their not-so-merry way down the fair-skinned cheeks. "She's my mentor."

Greg was literally knocked back in his chair by the revelation. He tried to remember to breath, literally. After a minute or two, he leaned forward. "How long has this been going on?"

Chris's voice was rough and ragged, as if he were trying to keep from crying. Greg's heart swelled in compassion, although he was mystified as to why Captain Krennick was the target of the charges. "Since the first week I was assigned to her. I really did think, at first, it was just mild 'flirting'—you know what I mean." Chris's eyes sought Greg's for understanding. Greg just nodded—he did that sort of thing all the time with all the females—including Bec—in the office. It was harmless fun and everybody took it that way. That kind of light flirting, as long as it didn't get out of hand, was fun and lightened everybody's workday. "But it got more intense and more serious as time went by."

"So what happened over the weekend?"

Chris sucked his breath in. "It was what happened this morning."

Greg's mind was spinning. It had been 9:00 when Bec had stormed into his office, so it had to have been early. It's funny—he hadn't paid any attention to who's car was parked in the JAG parking lot when he came in—and neither had he paid any attention as to whom came in early—it was all he could do to get to work on time, let alone worry about anybody else. So, whatever happened, had to have happened between 8:00 and 9:00. He leaned forward and rephrased his question. "So what happened this morning?"

Chris glanced at Greg. "She tried to assault me in her office."

It was one shock after another. Greg found it hard to breath again. When he finally let his breath out again, he whispered. "That's a definite career-buster!"

There was that half-smile on Chris's face. "Yeah—not to mention a crime." His hands went to his head and the long fingers ran through that white-blonde hair. "It's basically her word against mine—and who do you think people are going to believe?"

Greg thought about that. It was a lose-lose situation. If Chris were to bring charges against a senior officer without definite proof, especially an office two pay-grades above him, it would like suspicious—like he was the aggressor, not her—especially since he was male. If Chris continued being her mentee, he would be destroyed, even if the problem were only one of perception—it was what he thought was happening that was tearing him down. Greg sighed.

"One way of dealing with it would be to seek a change in mentor/mentee assignments." He cautiously said.

There was a flick of anger marching across Chris's face. "Don't you think I've thought of that? I asked the General a month ago—and there isn't another mentor available."

Wow. Greg slumped in his own chair. Then he looked at Chris. "I'll talk to my own mentor—see if we can get you out of this 'spot' you find yourself in."

There was a jerky pause on Chris's part. He looked at Greg. "Don't mention names—please. You know how the bullpen is with gossip." He looked down at his hands which had stopped twisting and then back up at Greg. "I'm surprised at how much better it feels just knowing someone else knows about it."

Which raised a question in Greg's mind. "Why didn't you tell Bec what was going on?" His voice turned gentle. "You know she's been worried about you."

"Because she's a female. Because I didn't want her to think less of Captain Krennick—role models, you know?" Chris's eyebrows rose and he glanced at Greg to see if he understood.

Greg certainly did. Most men who went into the military had a strong protective streak that came out in miscellaneous and odd little ways—and that was part of the problem with the transition period. He knew, from his close female associations, that protective streak drove women wild with frustration—and this situation was a good case in point.

He stood up, glanced at his watch. The whole conversation had taken place within a ten-minute time span, much to his surprise. He felt like it had gone on forever. He laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Come on. We both have to work to do. I'll talk to Commander Roberts about a 'hypothetical situation' and find out what options we—you have," Greg corrected himself. Emotionally, he really could not believe Captain Krennick could be guilty of this—he had found her cynical and wry attitude about life in general strangely appealing and funny—and couldn't believe she was capable of doing this. He really didn't want to associate himself too closely with Chris in this situation, especially since his ambition was every bit as active as the first day he joined JAG, and no matter what happened, anyone associated with this as-yet-unreported case could be hurt. But he had developed a real fondness for the "snowflake twins"—both of them, and it tore him up inside to see Chris looking—and feeling—so miserable. He missed the gentle warmth and accepting humor behind the smile. In short, Greg was internally conflicted. His face wore a worried frown as he made his way to Commander Roberts' office.


End file.
